


You Are Untitled

by We All Fall Eventually (RavenZaphara)



Series: Songs About Strings [2]
Category: Underfrick - Fandom, Undertail - Fandom
Genre: Alphyne, Also think about it: G!Strings lmao, Begging, Bondage, Broken Key (song title), Crushed Velvet (song title), Depression, Domestic Fluff, Dust on My Screen (song title), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Edging, Exhibitionism, Experiment Six-Nineteen (song title), F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Fluffybuns the therapist, Friends to Lovers, G!Sans is a song writer and indie musician, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not gonna rip someone else off. i'll write my own garbage lmao, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Maybe future voice acting for the songs. not sure yet., Multi, Mutual Pining, My G!Sans' name is officially Strings, My original songs belong to me, NSFW, Nightmares, Opaline (song title), Original Songs written by me??, Original songs featured, Porn with Feelings, Reader has a vagina, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Since he's an amnesiac he didn't really have one, Slow-ish burn, Smut, Stained Glass (song title), Supportive Relationships, Teasing, Thawed (song title), Three-Seven-Five (song title), Untitled (song title), Update! Eventually will post rough versions of the vocal tracks!, VOTE IN THE COMMENTS, Voice Kink, Voyeurism, and it will also be the first place my audio tracks will show up, date the skele, for all your shrink needs, g!sans belongs to borurou, healthy relationship, hopefully, if all goes well - Freeform, if you want updates please follow zaiyofalls on tumblr, mentions of past alcoholism, mild dirty talk, music fic, new songs incoming eventually, oops this story keeps getting longer help me., reader is a big fan who becomes his friend, reader's gender is not mentioned so can be whatever you prefer, sorry g!sans you're stuck with my shitty lyric-writing., spectral hands, that is where i'll post any developments on the story as well as any attempts at art for this story, very soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 60,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9282935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenZaphara/pseuds/We%20All%20Fall%20Eventually
Summary: His songs were so amazing, you had never found one you didn't love... but this one... it worried you. You were shy, painfully shy, but... you wanted to reach out.It's odd, looking back now. There are a million ways things could have gone, and the path you'd chosen started with befriending your favorite musician.





	1. Dust on My Screen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dark_Crystal_Demon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Crystal_Demon/gifts).



> I hope you guys enjoy this, particularly butnobodycame and Dark_Crystal_Demon. 
> 
> Enjoy a more vulnerable depiction of everyone's favorite sinlord, and stick around for the next chapters!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dust On My Screen:
> 
> About: Breathe easy for me.
> 
> Lyrics:  
> The room closes in on me, crushing me closer to the only light  
> Burn me from the inside out. I'm done. I'm done. It’s all gone.
> 
> I know it will stop one day, the white noise in my head.  
> Can't help but feel that I'm better off being dead.  
> Please just get me out of here...
> 
> Put this flame out, stomp me out.  
> Stomp me out, break me down,  
> Please just get me out of here… (x2)
> 
> Or all that will be left of me  
> Is what you wanted me to be.
> 
> It’s so hard to breathe right now, can’t look away from this lonely light.  
> There are no more options now. I’m done. I’m gone. You were right.
> 
> You said it would stop one day, the white noise in my head.  
> But now I feel like that will only be when I’m dead.  
> Please just get me out of here…
> 
> Put this flame out, stomp me out  
> Stomp me out, break me down  
> Please just get me out of here… (x2)
> 
> Or all that will be left of me  
> Will be the Dust on My Screen.
> 
> (Please just get me out of here.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/20/17 edit: improved lyrics to Dust on My Screen and made initial recording.
> 
> 2/2/17 edit: drew his hand, added image. sorry about the captions on it, it's straight from my sketchbook.  
> [My full sketch of Strings (g!sans)](https://68.media.tumblr.com/a38ce33d2954b751eb41d39b7272dc83/tumblr_okrgf5JUJy1w2zu16o1_540.jpg)  
> Improved lyrics to Dust on My Screen yet again and made a better recording.  
> Today was a good day.
> 
> 6/12/18 edit:
> 
> [DUST ON MY SCREEN FIRST RECORDING](https://zaiyofalls.tumblr.com/post/174035630576/here-it-is-an-update-and-my-very-first-posted)

How did you end up friends with your favorite indie song artist? You had found him online months ago, and after hearing one of his darker tracks, you’d instant messaged him to ask if he was okay. You had expected many things-- for him to refuse to talk to you, interact with you at all, or for him to outright tell you to mind your own business.

Now, he was your best friend. He was so many things. It had been the most pleasant surprise of your life to chat with him, not once, but almost constantly over the next four or five months. You talked about everything together. No stress, as you were never likely to meet in person, and after a while you grew to trust him. More importantly, he grew to trust you as well.

The first time you’d suggested video chatting, he’d refused without hesitation, and it hurt a bit. You’d never even seen pictures of him-- his music channel was void of any pictures of him, as well. You had no idea what he looked like, though you certainly imagined, secretly.

The months were still passing, and the two of you were talking just as much-- and he brought up video chat again. You hadn’t expected him to, with how adamantly he’d refused before.

“What made you change your mind?” You asked.

He didn’t answer for a long time. Finally. “I want to believe you won’t stop talking to me if you see me.”

That stung. Did he think you were that shallow? “Why the hell would I stop talking to you?”

That had been the first time he sent the phrase you’d be waiting to hear every day henceforth. “Call me.”

You, of course, had panicked. “Uhhhh, one moment!” and run off to fix yourself. Hell, you were afraid if he saw you like you just rolled out of bed (which you had) _he’d_ stop talking to _you_.

When you came back, you wavered a moment longer before hitting the call button and trying to get comfy even though you were dying from stress. You were going to meet your best friend. You were going to see him, _hear_ him in something other than his music.

You were stoked and on the verge of a stroke.

“Can you see me?” He asked, and his voice alone made you smile-- and then you caught sight of him. He was a skeleton. A living, breathing(?) skeleton, with pips of light in his dark sockets. How did he manage to have bags under his eyes?

“Woah.” You whispered. “Holy shit.”

“Heh… I get that a bit.” He said, looking a bit sheepishly up at the camera. Your heart thudded, though you were conflicted. How did his mouth move like that?

“You’re a…”

“Monster, yeah.” He said it softly, as if waiting for you to panic. He was tense.

“Woah.” You didn’t know what else to say, but it was a lot to process. “I totally understand now. Shit, wow, you…”

He watched you carefully, waiting for you to finish the sentence.

“Holy shit.” You gave up on finding words.

You had no idea how much that smile you were wearing meant to him. Even if he couldn’t glean how you felt from your words, you weren’t afraid of him-- you weren’t disgusted. It gave him hope… but he had to be sure.

“That okay with you?” He asked.

“Holy fuck man, _yeah_. Why wouldn’t it be?” You asked. “I mean, it’s not what I expected, by any means, but…” You rushed to continue the sentence. “I totally understand why you waited.”

At first, it had been jarring to get used to. Reconciling the deep, almost primal voice with the figure it came from had been the biggest step. It baffled you, how so much presence could come from a literal skeleton in clothes. As to that, he almost exclusively wore tanktops, though he had worn a couple graphic tshirts. It was so strange to see how the fabric laid. It was a surreal reminder that there was only bone.

Even more startling was how emotive his face was. He was incredibly emotive, and you supposed that was the beauty of being a monster. What would apply to humans is less of a rule and more of a suggestion.

He was incredibly patient through the usual questions. Do you eat, do you sleep, etc. There were other questions though, and he seemed reluctant to think much on the topic.

“What are the scars for?” You’d asked, and he had absently traced the one trailing up from his eye. You became aware that they weren’t just cracks. They were too substantial. He could almost pry into them with his fingertips. With how gingerly he touched them, you wondered if they hurt. You were afraid to ask, with how pensive he looked.

“I don’t know.” He said, voice airy and absent. “They’ve just always been there.”

“And… the holes?” You asked, gesturing to your hand, which you raised to show on camera.

The holes in his palms were roughly two inches in diameter. “Make it hard to play peek-a-boo with kids.” He said.

You laughed, and the smile he rewarded you with made you happy to finally see him. You realized now that you might have a tiny crush on him. You came for the music, but stayed for that smile.

He looked so shy, so vulnerable-- and you wondered if that meant he felt the same way as you did. Had he been that afraid that you wouldn’t want to talk to him again? Did you mean that much? The prospect made you even more shy.

 

It was an everyday thing, after that. The chat log was filled with “Call me” and you based your schedule off when the two of you could talk. You could almost set your watch by him. He had a job, and then he’d work on his songs when the inspiration struck. He’d always message you, when he knew you were off work as well.

Timezones be damned, it took a while to get into the swing of things, but considering he hardly ever slept, it was easier. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy sleeping.” He told you once, his sockets drooping from exhaustion. “It’s that if I sleep more than a few hours at a time, i get a headache. And it lasts for fucking ever.”

“Is that what happened last night?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need me to get off here so you can medicate or whatever it is you do?”

“I just have to wait it out. Sleeping again usually evens it out.”

“So it starts hurting because you overslept and… goes away because you sleep?”

“Makes enough sense, doesn’t it? I also get them if I just don’t sleep at all.” He was holding his head.

“Hey, are you sure you don’t need to get off?” He chuckled a bit and you blushed. “Not like that, you pervert.”

“Heh. I’ll be just fine. Not going to die or anything. Having too much fun.”

You didn’t want to admit that his smile made your stomach turn in a very pleasant way. It was getting hard to deny that he meant something to you. A _lot_ of something.

 

One day, he sent the message, and you found him on the other line holding his acoustic guitar, tuning it, pick clamped between his jaws.

“Whatcha doing there?” You asked, and he grinned wider around the piece of plastic in his mouth. He stopped tuning and grabbed the pick before answering.

“Been waiting to write a song all day at work.”

You were a bit confused. “Uh, won’t I distract you or something?” He never asked you to chat during his creative time.

“Nah, you’re good.” He said, and reached off camera for a cup of what you knew by now to be peppermint tea. He had a headache again, then.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

He shrugged. “Tell me how this sounds.” He said, and did an experimental strum. It was tuned well enough, apparently, because he nodded and took a deep breath, as if to calm himself.

He began playing a song that sounded softer than most the songs you’d heard from him-- but considering you’d never known him to play acoustically, you weren’t surprised. It was always a shock to hear his voice, but this was going to be the first time you heard him sing outright aside from the occasional humming.

His voice was rich and dark. It felt like it could wrap around you a hundred times and squeeze you to death slowly and you’d be too blissed to care. It was a voice made to say dark things in the ears of lovers, a voice made to make people second guess their actions. He had a voice made for suggestion.

Even with the shoddy microphone he used for the chat, you found yourself shivering. You didn’t say a word as he played. You couldn’t hear the words clearly over the strumming, and he wasn't taking pains to enunciate. You guessed he was still working on the lyrics, but you were still too surprised that he was doing this at all. It was like a private concert. If this had happened when you had first started talking to him, you would have been beyond starstruck-- you might have just died from the honor.

This was different though. He wasn’t a stranger. Sure, you still looked up to him, you admired him. You loved his music. But there was a fondness that had grown with time, and you found yourself hanging on his voice, straining to hear the words, to glean a little more of him.

The fondness showed on your face. You couldn’t know that that night, after the call ended, he lay awake, holding that guitar, strumming it out over and over, working out the lyrics with fresh inspiration and remembering that glow on your face, how you smiled and your eyes crinkled at the corners with warmth. When at last he fell asleep, snuggling the damn guitar, it was after he recorded an alternate final chorus on his phone. The recording lasted the rest of the night, capturing his tiny noises and deep breaths.

And maybe a whispered name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here for fluff and don't want to see smut, I would not advise proceeding to the next chapters. I'm sorry. This plot literally wouldn't work the same if I took out the smut and it's interspersed with important details and character information. If I took the smut out or made it skipable, it wouldn't make much sense.


	2. Opaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stained Glass:
> 
> About: Remembering an old friend.
> 
> Lyrics:  
> Hours and hours, staring through the glass at me  
> You came and came again.  
> Hours and hours, playing this game with me  
> Twisting your hair in my hands.  
> If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go now  
> It it’s all the same to you.  
> You see the world differently through Stained Glass (x2)
> 
> Cut me through, tear me apart for just a taste  
> I came and came again.  
> Crying softly, quietly raze my breath again  
> Twisting on top of me  
> If it’s all the same to you, believe in me please  
> If it’s all the same to you.  
> You see the world differently through Stained Glass (x2)
> 
> If it's all the same to you, never look back  
> If it's all the same to you  
> You see the world differently through Stained Glass  
> I'm tired of the standard you held me to  
> If it's all the same to you...  
> It's the end. Please never look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: referenced death of a close friend. reference to alcoholism. reference to homelessness.
> 
> And the lusty aspect of the story starts now!
> 
> 6/12/18 EDIT NOTES:  
> Improved lyrical content to Stained Glass. I've actually got a half-assed idea of what I want this to sound like now that my methods are refining. Also, I've got a plan for making the songs, at least a vocal track until I can figure the rest out. It'll take some time, but I'll get it eventually. Remember that I have no talent, don't expect much from me, and please be aware I have very little money for good software so I'm doing what i can with what i've got. haaaaaaaaa

When you were at work, people would sometimes fear you and your flat expressions. Was it that you were aggravated? You just didn’t want to talk to them, or be there? No, it wasn’t that. It was just your natural state, and your emotions were better spent on something that thrilled you.

You were on break, listening to music on random on your phone when you came across one of his oldest songs, Stained Glass, and broke into a wide smile. You lit up brighter than anyone had seen, and for the rest of the day, people whispered behind your back, guessing as to what it was that had caused such a change in your demeanor.

Questions started popping up soon after. Suddenly your coworkers were fascinated with your life. Did you have a boyfriend, did you have someone or something to go home to, why were you always staring at your phone. It went on and on, and you did your best to keep quiet about him. You weren’t ashamed of him. Not at all, but you didn’t know if they would understand.

People around here belittled those who were different.

 

“Hey, can you tell me what your song Stained Glass is about?” You asked, unable to get the song out of your head.

“Tell me what you think it’s about first.” He said, his smile tilting into a smirk further every moment.

“Uhh, what I got from it…” You felt silly, now. “I thought it was about falling for someone in the clergy and it changed how you looked at things.”

He laughed and covered his face with his hands. You could still see his eyes through the holes, making the gesture useless.

“What’s it about, then?”

“I’m gonna lie and say you were right. It’s much better, to be honest. Better story.”

“Bullshit. Tell me!” You insisted. “Tell me or I’ll try to sing it to torture you.”

“God, please.” He begged, and you saw that he didn’t look too happy. “Of all the shit you could threaten to sing, why that?”

“What’s it about?!” You pleaded, still chuckling. “I mean… is it something bad?”

He looked away, sighed, and slipped on the facade of a more confident version of himself. “You could say that.”

You waited, and he eventually sighed again and sat up in his seat, looking intently into the camera. “Dated this girl who wore glasses. I came on them and she took me for round two while still wearing them like that.”

You gaped at him for a moment. “Was it in a church, as well? Holy fuck.”

“Heh, good one. But you asked.”

You nodded in concession but couldn’t make eye contact with him for a few minutes.

You found yourself hard pressed to sleep that night. Why? You found yourself holding a pillow, nuzzling into it and asking yourself stupid questions like what did his house smell like, whether his body felt like actual bone or if it felt softer.

You started dreaming about him at that point.

 

“Hey, your camera isn’t working.” He said one night the next week, and looked legitimately disappointed.

“Can you still hear me?” You asked, fiddling with the cords, checking for a short.

“Yeah, I can hear you. The cam is going in and out. Think you need a new one.” He said.

“I can’t afford one right now.” You groaned. “And I won’t be able to until next month or so.”

He sighed. “Well… at least I can still hear you.” He said. You were glad he couldn’t see you blush. How much longer were you going to be able to keep this attraction a secret? It was bad enough that you were beginning to think of your best friend in a sexual context, replaying his filthy words over in your head-- but what would he possibly say if he found out?

You had taken to examining the rest of his songs, searching for others about sexual encounters. His voice was beginning to have an effect on you-- one that made it uncomfortable to hear his music while at work. You started leaving your mp3 player at home just to avoid the temptation.

Now that your cam wasn’t working, it was difficult to maintain good conversations. He admitted he always performs better when he can see his audience. You tried not to take it as a sex joke, but you weren’t sure it wasn’t intended to be one.

 

A few nights into the one-sided cam-conversations, you broke the silence with a question. “What inspires you most?”

You caught him off guard, and watched with pleasure as his expressions changed. He smirked. “Honestly, it varies, but gotta have some kind of feeling or story behind everything, right? Gotta write what you know.” He paused and got up. “One moment.” He said from off camera. He returned with his acoustic.

You sat there in your pajamas, watching him warm up for an unseen but trusted audience, and you felt that fondness swell in you again-- but something else as well. His voice had that effect, you knew. Listening to him sing-- to no one else but _you_ , at that!-- was going to put you in the worst position right now.

He began strumming softly and leaned in closer to the mic so you could hear him better over the guitar. “For example.” He said softly, in that dark voice he only used when performing. You felt a thrill race through you. “The song ‘Broken Key’ is about losing my home.”

“You lost your home?” You asked, proud of yourself for sounding absolutely normal, even though your heart was pounding and you knew you were going to start feeling light headed.

“Lost a lot of things.” He said. “The song ‘Crushed Velvet’ is about a friend of mine who was killed when we got to the surface.” You felt like you’d been doused in cold water. He’d mentioned it once before, but only the once, when he was very tired.

“But there are other songs, too. Like ‘Stained Glass’ which I’m sure you remember.” You looked at him, trying to discern whether he was hiding residual grief by changing the subject. He was so strong, you realized.

His voice dipped into that well of sin once more, his mouth close to the mic. His position made his face the only thing the camera saw. He was looking directly at you, grinning wickedly as ever. "Do you know what ‘Three-seven-five' is about?"

You tried to gather your voice, but you had no idea. Right now you were hard pressed to not touch yourself. _Why not?_ You asked yourself. _He will never know, if you play it right._

It was wrong. It was wrong on so many levels, wasn’t it? You should totally not do this.

You were doing this.

“What’s it about?” You humored him, once again applauding yourself for keeping your voice and breathing steady.

He was playing the chords, still staring into the camera. He grinned and you imagined he knew what you were doing. You felt shame but also a heady arousal at the idea.

“It’s the number of days I lasted without alcohol.” He said. “I broke that record, but… I wrote that song after getting blackout drunk and waking up in someone else’s house.”

You remembered now, how it was a bitter, venomous song. You had always thought it was about a previous lover who had hurt him, perhaps violently. Now you saw that it was hardly off the mark. But was he singing about himself or the alcohol?

“What about…” You thought for a moment, recalling one of your favorites. “Opaline.” You managed to say it without panting, good job.

He grinned again. “They were a human.” He began, and the strumming shifted into the tune of the song in question.

You remembered some of the words now. It suddenly came to your attention that of all the songs you could ask about, this one was the one you’d only ask about if you couldn’t think straight. You’d listened to the song before, many times, mostly alone at night as of late.

He spoke again. “They helped me write it. Heh.” He nodded along to the tune he was playing. “Every time they came over, they’d have me play. It became their song.” He chuckled, hesitating before continuing. “You asked what it was _about_ though.”

You waited breathlessly, wishing you knew first hand just what the song was about, though it was obvious enough.

He was going to sing it, you realized. “Tied to me, bound to my whim, you keep me steady with the word that lets me in. Let me in, let me in, let me in.” God, it sounded so much darker this close to the mic. You held your breath, waiting for the pickup in the song.

“My Opaline, so flawless, shining beneath me. Dare me to mark you, dare me to keep you alive, alive. You beg me to taste of you, beg me to take from you, until words won’t describe just how you feel so alive. So let me in. Let me in. Let me in, my Opaline.”

You could not begin to explain just how amazing it was to hear him growl those words, still looking into you as if he knew exactly what you were doing. The thought of him watching you like this made you even hotter. You let out a pant and clamped your free hand over your mouth.

“I love the taste of the strawberry lashes I leave on your back, and how it’s never enough to eat you just once. So dance on my tongue, while I hold the strings. You’re my beautiful doll. Dance only for me. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in, my Opaline.”

You managed not to make a sound, hand pressed over your mouth as the other one lent to your fantasies of living the song. You were afraid he’d hear the noises your body was making, or the ones you were desperately trying to muffle with your hand.

“I’m tied to you, tangled in your web. Keep me steady with the words that let me in. I let you in, so let me in.” His voice trailed off, and you bit your fingers to keep from moaning in the silence. “I let you in, so let me in. My Opaline.”

You swallowed your breath to keep from screaming, your thighs clamping around your wrist as you rode out your orgasm. Your heart was hammering, and when the high faded, all that was left was weariness and shame.

“Heh, sorry. Haven’t done that one in years… kinda missed it.” He looked into the camera sheepishly. “Didn’t put you to sleep, did I?”

 _God, if only._ You steadied yourself. “No, I’m here. You’re even better live.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, the scratchy noise reminding you just how surreal he was in all regards. He looked so nervous for a moment, but he schooled his expression again. He was the performer, after all. Even with a faceless crowd, he could act.

“Got any other songs you like? I’ll brush up on them for tomorrow.” He offered. “It’s cool to sing them again. I don’t really have anyone to perform for out here anymore. Can’t post it online, because… you know.”

“Spectacular racism.” You supplied. “Hey, any song you want to sing for me is good. I haven’t heard one I don’t like yet.”

He said your name, softly, and you felt yourself warm. “You spoil me.” He was still looking away. You panicked for a moment. Were you right? Could he see you? No, you saw the camera still wasn’t working. You should probably unplug it, then, just in case.

There was a part of you that made you stop short of disconnecting the cam. For one, the program would tell him you unplugged it, right? Would that make him suspect?

Could you delude yourself into thinking you didn’t deserve to be caught?

That night, when the call ended, while you were berating yourself for sexualizing your best friend like that-- for considering doing it again!-- you had no idea that he sat there, thinking of that song and why he’d felt the need to lie.

It wasn’t that he missed performing those older songs that much. It was that he needed an excuse. He needed to play off that little act as just that-- an act. He shut his laptop and leaned back in his chair, letting the guitar gently to the ground before he scrubbed at his face with both hands.

What kind of idiot tries to seduce their friend with a song they wrote about an old fuckbuddy?

Shit, though, what if you noticed? Now that he thought about it, he was pouring the eye contact on pretty heavy there. It was hard to notice since he couldn’t see you. Hell, was that why it didn’t feel real? Because he couldn’t see your reactions? He was a nervous wreck-- you had been so quiet during.

He was almost hopeful that you’d fallen asleep. You had told him once that his voice was very relaxing, way back when you’d started talking. If you had fallen asleep, he figured, you wouldn’t have discovered just how heavily he was pouring on the charm.

“Such a fucking loser.” He chided himself before remembering the rest of his tea. You had suggested peppermint for headaches. It was worth it, even if it was more sugar than drink. It didn’t make him feel less pain, but it did make him feel like you were closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you enjoy this? Leave me a comment, and tell me how you feel. Also, tell me if you enjoy my terrible attempt at songwriting, and remember that I might record some of these, if there's interest in them.


	3. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken Key
> 
> About: My voice is rough. Had to get back around to using it. That’s why there’s less range.
> 
> Lyrics:  
> Out the window. Out the window I’ll go.  
> Let me die out here.  
> Can’t die out here.  
> Who can tell if i starve?  
> Who would know if I slept?  
> Who would care if i woke?  
> All I've got's this Broken Key  
> It’s cold but not why i’m numb  
> Let me die out here.  
> Let me fuckin' die.  
> All I got left's the pain  
> All I got left's the shame  
> Nothing to fucking gain  
> All I've got's this Broken Key.  
> Don't fucking touch me  
> Don't fucking touch me  
> Just let me die out here.  
> Singing in my Broken Key.
> 
> Aah. Aaah. Just want some fuckin help.  
> Aah. Aaah. Drive it like you stole it. Just stay away from me.  
> Aah. Aaah. Just want some fuckin help.  
> Aah. Aaah. Drive it like you stole it with my Broken Key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE:
> 
> There's a song used in this chapter that is not mine. But as an experiment, and because I already know how to sing it, I'll record a cover of it and provide it in an update, so if the document says it's updated, but there's no new chapter, that is what is changed! I might also eventually do the same to my original "songs" from this story, eventually.
> 
> The song featured in this chapter that I have NO RIGHTS TO: Core's "The Angle". There is a link leading to the song in the story when it becomes relevant. As there is no acoustic version, I'll need you to use your imagination. Thank you!
> 
> Note that these songs opening the chapters are going to get a bit darker. We're gonna see a bit of who our lovely friend was before he crawled out of the dark pit he lived in. Consider the songs a look into his mind. And expect more songs. Eventually.
> 
> 6/12/18 EDIT NOTES: Improved lyrics to Broken Key. Please, until I record it, imagine it with a rhythm and volume of Fightstar's [Damocles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DqAh3aid-Ws). I understand this isn't everyone's type of song, but the point is it's how Strings started, he was unrefined and had too much rage to just keep it. The last part with the Aahs and shit is sung, not screamed. I intend to make this eventually. I've got plans for how to work this out.

He sighed and looked to the guitar again. He should work on calming himself down. He was in no state to sleep, though he desperately needed to. He pulled the guitar into his lap and thought back to the song he’d played before.

The melody felt comfortingly familiar. It was something he thought of a lot at work. He hadn’t been sure what he was doing until he sat down in front of you though. He had been just trying something new, muttering lyrics under his breath as he went, trying to keep some sort of rhythm, figure out some sort of vocal melody to accompany the song he’d been breathing all day.

The lyrics were baseless, but the music went so well. He’d glanced up at you, saw that look on your face, and he’d looked back at the guitar, mind slowly focusing as he thought. This time when he approached the chorus, or what he hoped to reform into one, he tried out a new line, still mumbled, just loud enough for him to pick up.

You were so patient with him, listening so intently, but it was that face you’d made that had inspired him. He wondered how you would have looked when he sang Opaline to you, and sighed in aggravation at himself. He wasn’t helping himself now.

He picked at the strings, getting back into the song. He tweaked it for a while, and then glanced at the clock and swore. He only had a few hours before he’d be due back at work. Wait… He looked at the date and let out a sigh. It was his day off. That meant he could plan to his leisure. Usually he’d use his entire day off to work on newer material, do some recording and such.

He already knew what he’d be doing today. He grinned. Well, he was in no hurry to sleep now! He didn’t feel that tired, or so he told himself.

He hummed and leapt back into the song. At last, words began to come to him, and he turned on his recorder so he could patch it together, piece by piece.

When he made a new song, he always started out with his phone’s recorder. It was less hassle, and he was only doing the equivalent of a rough sketch, anyway. But when he pulled the app up, he remembered he’d already recorded a bit of this song. He debated deleting it, considering he’d done it half asleep and the file was, upon glancing at it, hours long. He must have literally fallen asleep on it.

He hastily jotted down the words he’d come up with a minute ago on a nearby steno pad before deciding to listen to the shitty recording before deleting it.

“I knew my world would change when the sky cracked open and cried for me. Sometimes I’d feel like dust in the wind. I always thought I’d shape my own life on this rock, but I’d never have known back then.”

It was a decent verse, though sloppy. It was… inspired.

“Never like to admit when things are wrong. But I’ll never admit when things are right. Tell me this can be real, ‘cause i don’t wanna be afraid to feel… anymore.”

When he began the chorus in the recording, he heard his voice creak and winced, but continued listening for the sake of the lyrics. He didn’t remember them being this solid. Not final-product, sure, but… “You make me wonder if today will be okay. I’m sure it will if you’re there like yesterday. You make me wonder if today will be the same.”

He could hear himself miss-strumming, and that he had to pause and get back into the groove of it. He continued to the second half of the chorus with little more than a muttered curse. “You make me wonder if I have the strength to try. I wonder if you know how you’ve kept me alive. You make me wonder if I'll always live this lie? A lie…”

He was trying to get fancy with the finger-picking at this point, but quickly gave up, continuing the lyrics halfway through a yawn. Fuck, he was getting tired just listening. “He always told me it would get better. He always said to keep going forever. He told me one day that my world would change…” He groaned in frustration and went back a line. “He told me... _ugh!_ He said… Fuck me sidewaaaays!”

He stopped for a second to breathe and reconsider the words, and then resumed. “He always told me it would get better. He always said to keep going forever. And even after he was dead, I tried. I hoped it was enough to say I’d just survive.” He went through the verse again, all in one, and sighed.

“You make me wonder if today will be okay. I’m sure it will be if you’re there like yesterday. I want to believe that we’ll always be this way… You make me wonder what tomorrow has in store. I never thought I’d be excited to see more. Agh…” He quit for a moment with a hard strum. “Fuck it.”

“You make me wonder what tomorrow has in store. I never thought I’d be excited to see more.-- I don’t know what to do, What can I hope to do. What if you see right through?”

He didn’t remember this part, but it was good. Whatever was going on, he was glad it was happening. He couldn’t hear the chords over his strained voice, though. That annoyed him, but he’d figure it out.

“If I just say the words, but what are those fucking words? Please just open this door for me.” He hummed in approval, even though the damn phase didn’t rhyme. What the fuck was he even doing at that point?

“You make me wonder what tomorrow has in store. I never thought I’d be excited to see more. You make me want to stand on your side of the door…”

He sighed and there was a weird noise. He had laid down on the bed, the noise of it making the mic shuffle against the comforter. The movement had jostled him in his playing, but he could almost remember this specific moment.

“Never like to admit when things are wrong. But I’ll never admit when things are right. Tell me this can be real, ‘cause I don’t wanna live this lie... anymore.” He was playing softer now. “I don’t wanna live this lie anymore. So let me stand on your side of the door.”

The song had ended, and he just sat there, listening until the strumming ceased. He glanced at the steno pad and crossed out what he’d written. He began to transcribe the lyrics from the recording.

What would he name this song? He’d have to be clever, or you’d figure out it was about you.

Then again, if he just continued to hide this, he’d truly be perpetuating the lie. Maybe, as tired as he was, he was more susceptible to being honest with himself, but…

Regardless… He would just have to call it Untitled for now.

 

You spent your entire day thinking about him-- and it showed at work. During break, someone got coffee and you were too busy daydreaming to notice your paths crossed until the hot coffee drenched your upper arm and hip.

You tried to play it off as nothing, but it hurt like fuck, and your clothes were pretty well saturated in sugary coffee. Your boss asked if you wanted to go home, and you thought it out. Could you afford a few hours off your next check? You remembered what day it was and smiled.

“I’ll go home.” you said. He was home today. You could kill to just sit and talk with him right now.

The guilt hit you then. How could you pretend you hadn't masturbated to him the night before during the chat. You had a sinking feeling you’d feel the need to do so again tonight. Maybe you could just use the extra time to clean house? Oh, who were you kidding…

When you got home, you turned the computer on, telling yourself he’d initiate conversation on his own time.

 

He had just laid down to get a couple hours of sleep when he glanced at the laptop one more time-- and saw that you were online. “SHIT!” He leapt up, checking the time. Did he fall asleep and wake up feeling like he’d slept less than a second?

No, he wasn’t losing his mind. You were home early for once. He told himself to play it cool, sleep long gone from his plans. Fuck, but if he messaged you how could he play it off?

Fuck it, he didn’t want to waste time. He sent the standard “Call me” message and waited in front of the laptop, hands steepled in front of his face as he stared off into space. At last the prompt popped up on his screen and he summoned an extra hand to press the button, unwilling to move at the moment if he could help it.

Hands still steepled, sight unfocused in front of him, he waited, and just as he thought, your first words were--

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”

“Oops.” He looked up at the blank screen and grinned, though he was disappointed again that he couldn’t see you.

You sighed. “You gonna be okay? Not having nightmares again, are you?”

He hadn’t been having as many nightmares in the past four months or so. He’d almost forgotten how much of a problem they’d been. There had been times where he’d sent messages to you at odd hours of the night, hoping that you’d answer because he was too afraid to be alone.

“Nah, I’m fine. I promise.” He said, shaking himself a bit. He was making you worry. “So, you’re home awful early.”

“Yeah, the lady who wears too much perfume spilled coffee all over me, so I got sent home.”

“Shit, you okay?”

He could hear the smile in your voice. “I’m fine. I’ve been hurt worse before.”

On the other side of the screen, you were trying to distract yourself from how husky with exhaustion his voice was. He sounded adorable, like you wanted to hug him and just hold him down until he went the hell to sleep.

On the other hand, though, the deepness of his voice was very compelling in his current state. It brought to mind a situation where you’re sitting in front of him, with his arms around you, your back to his chest, and he’s muttering things to you in that voice. Perhaps because the implication of you having slept beside him-- but the scenario made you want to turn on a fan in the room.

“Have you considered a song or two you wanted to hear from me?” He asked. “If not, I mean, you have time.”

You shrugged and then remembered-- of course he couldn’t see you. “I don’t know. Tell me about more of your songs. So far, it seems they’re either about tragedy or you being a regular sinlord.”

He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. He was wearing a t shirt today, rather than his standard tanktops. “Better yet…” You said, with a giggle in your voice that made him smile wider. “Tell me something you sing around the house, or in the shower.”

“Fun fact… I don’t usually sing in the shower.”

“What? Why?”

“I mean, I take quick showers. If I sing in there, I’d run up a helluva water bill. So I mostly just talk to myself, rant and rave. Make jokes to myself.”

“What kind of jokes?” You asked, wondering how you’d left even this stone unturned in the months you had been talking. “Like, knock knock jokes or something?”

He laughed. “Nah, more like… hhhm gimme a second. Okay. A goat monster walks into a kitchen, yeah?” You hummed in response and he nodded. “She says to the head chef, ‘Sir, can you teach me to cook.’ And he looks at her and says, ‘Either shear yourself bare or wear a hairnet.’” He laughed. “And at that point I just…. Fucking…. Picture a 6 foot tall goat monster covering herself in hairnets.” He was wheezing now. “Or. _Fuck_ like. Imagine her going to the barber and ask to be--” He was unable to breathe at this point.

You were more amused by how hard he was laughing. “Are you going to be okay?” The idea was funny enough, but something told you this might have been part of a true story.

“Sorry, sorry. Fuck, I know it’s not that funny.” He started in again, laughing.

“Are you also the kind of person to laugh at the phrase ‘moist towelette’ by chance? Or like, a picture of a snake and it's captioned 'such a good dog!'”

He fell out of the chair.

“Oh my god, you’re a comedy lightweight.” You were laughing now too, itching to tell him all real joke. “Hey, want to hear a good one?”

He raised his arm and you saw him giving the thumbs up from the floor. “Go for it.” He said tiredly, and you heard the sound of his skull hitting the floor with a light _thunk_.

“So three men are sitting down to eat a rotisserie chicken, okay? And the first man reaches in and lays claim first. He says, ‘I find myself drawn to breasts, you know? My favorite part…’ and so he takes the breasts of the chicken. The second man shrugs and reaches in as well. ‘I’m more of a leg man, myself. My mouth just waters looking at them.’ and so he took the legs. The third man looks at the other two, then at the chicken, reached in and said, ‘I just like cock.’ and took the entire thing.”

You heard his bones rattling as he laughed on the ground, and you laughed too, feeling that fond warmth in your stomach. There was something so endearing at how big a dork he was-- and then you realized something. He hadn’t always been like this.

No, you weren’t just talking about when you’d met, how he’d been noticeably depressed and fatalistic. You realized now that he had let his guard down for you. He was allowing that performer’s mask to fall around you.

You weren’t just a fan to him, just like he wasn’t just an artist to you.

He was pulling himself off the ground now, scrubbing his face with his hands, trying to pull himself back into control. As he was standing next to his chair, about to sit down, you found yourself speaking unbidden.

“I’m glad I talked to you that night.”

He stopped for a moment, the surprise showing on his face before he turned his face away shyly-- but you still glimpsed his expression melting into something soft and warm.

 _Not now_. You tried to keep from thinking about how it would feel to kiss him. You definitely wouldn’t let yourself think of how he’d look at you if you sat astride him in that chair, arms wound around his neck, staring down at him, a breath away from kissing him. You certainly wouldn’t imagine his hands on your hips, his voice that low rumble that you could feel against you--

“I’m glad you did too.” He said, and you snapped to attention, seeing him in the chair, reaching off-screen for his guitar. “You know what song I sing when I’m just fucking around?”

“Tell me.” You said.

“Mmm. I’ll do one better and sing it for you.” He said, experimentally strumming. “I usually kick it around when I’m trying to cook.”

“You play the guitar while you cook?”

“Why not?” He asked. “I have no shortage of hands to work with.”

“Just the two, right?”

He looked confused for a second. “Oh, I forgot, they aren’t on-screen.” The camera turned as if on it's own, and you noticed what looked like a ghostly hand, with a hole in the palm, just like his own. It waved, while still holding what looked like--

“Is that your phone?”

“Yeah. I was gonna record myself singing this. Haven’t tried to, might make a full cover, if I do it well.”

“You… you have professional recording equipment. But you use your phone?”

He shrugged. “It’s less trouble if I decide it’s shit. Takes a while to get everything set up like I like it. Plus, this is more informal. Feels better.”

You stared at him for a moment. “Whatever works for you.”

“Good. Now listen.” He said, chuckling. “Gonna serenade you. Put you to sleep.”

You felt that spike of affection in your gut, accompanied by something hotter. “If… If you put me to sleep, you gotta promise you’ll get some rest too.”

“Deal.” He said. “Hold on, let me adjust. Why don’t you get comfy, too? That way you can fall asleep in bed instead of your computer chair?”

“Aww, you _do_ care.” You murmured, expecting him to tease back, the way he used to, with the mask heavy on his face.

“Yep.” He said instead, getting up, something packing his laptop to follow him as he sat down on his bed, still fully dressed, guitar in his lap. He motioned across the room, and his pick flew through the air at him, and he caught it between his pointer and middle finger. In an obviously practiced motion, he flipped it across his knuckles, and then back.

“Hax.” You said jokingly.

“Sure.” He replied. “Aren’t _you_ a cynic.” His voice was flat but his smile showed he was just teasing you. He began playing then, and you watched him sink into the song. You told yourself you’d be ready for him to sing, but when he opened his mouth, you admitted you would never be prepared.

As he sang [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ulv3lRpo9eE) you found yourself falling into his voice.

His voice made the song sound so intimate, and you could tell the acoustic wasn’t heavy enough for him as he hammered those strings. The aggressive passion in the way he played and sang the song broke your resolve as you wondered how he’d ravage you, how he’d hold you so tightly that his fingers would bruise your flesh.

You wondered what his hand would feel like, doing what you were doing, and your touches roughened. You didn’t even last to the end of the song, and sure enough, you were beginning to fade off in the blissful haze as you came down.

He put the guitar down and lay down, himself, and you watched his profile as he lay amidst his bunched up comforter and bare pillows and mattress. Were the bed sheets in the wash, or did he just not bother? You could almost safely assume the latter.

“That was amazing.” You said once your breathing regulated, and he smiled.

“Mm. Thanks.” His voice was smoky, low. You saw him press back into the pillow and hum again. “Thanks for listening.”

“You know I always love to hear you.”

“No. I mean…. In general. Thank you.” His eyes were closed, and his face was more serious. “I don’t know if you know this but… I was really close to giving up back then. I didn’t really feel like there was a reason to keep going.” He paused. “I… uh…” He looked back at the camera then, his mouth hitching at the side. “Just thanks, okay?”

You didn’t know what to say. At last. “I’m… so glad I talked to you.”

He smiled. “Good night.”

“Good night…” He disconnected, presumably with one of those extra, spectral hands. You stared at the screen for a moment, guilt swelling once again. This wasn’t a crush, was it? It wasn’t just sexual, either.

 

He lay there, but for the life of him, he couldn’t sleep. He desperately needed to, but he just couldn’t make his brain shut up.

Maybe if he told himself a story, or imagined something? It worked sometimes, right? Worth a shot. He had work tomorrow. He needed this nap.

You were on the other side, napping too. He swallowed his breath. You were hundreds of miles away doing the exact same thing he was. He rolled over onto his side, and stared at the otherwise empty bed. He sighed dismally.

He could imagine how warm you’d be. Like a space heater in his little matchbox rental house. He could imagine how your hair would splay across the pillow, how the texture would be in his hands. How he could sleep close to you. For warmth, of course. He didn’t like the cold. That was all.

“I love you.” He said, eyes closed. How much longer could hide that? How much longer until it slipped out?

He could imagine your mouth against his clavicle. The resonating sound of your soft laughter against his bones. The way your hands would feel just right on him, the way you’d try to play it off as a joke at first. The way he’d kiss you, bite your lip softly, allow you to explore him with that precious curiosity of yours.

 _Sleep_ became harder every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What song should I provide in the summary next chapter? Vote in the comments:  
> Options for next summary: Crushed Velvet, Three-Seven-Five, or Experiment Six-Nineteen.
> 
> Secondly, what song should i attempt to PERFORM first? Please choose one that's been featured so far, and also bear in mind it takes a while to produce songs please be gentle with me lol:  
> Options for acapella recording: Dust on My Screen, Broken Key, Stained Glass, Opaline, or Untitled.
> 
> EDIT: 1/16/17  
> Now that the new chapter is out, the first vote is up! However, please continue to vote on what song should be performed first!  
> 


	4. Three-Seven-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crushed Velvet:
> 
> About: I won’t forget.
> 
> Lyrics:  
> I got your back. I got your back.  
> Just focus on me, it’ll be okay.  
> It hurts it hurts, because I can’t let go.  
> Your face is Crushed Velvet.
> 
> I want to hurt them like they hurt you.  
> It's my fault that I couldn't protect you.
> 
> Don’t let me remember you like that  
> Don’t let me forget who you were  
> Why can't I see you before you became  
> Shattered, Dusty, Crushed Velvet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be forewarned, this chapter is going to be a roller coaster ride.
> 
> Trigger warnings: literal nightmare fuel and helplessness, mentions of violent death, mentions of homelessness, mentions of alcoholism, and of course sexual themes.
> 
> Let's get a good look into our little nerd's head.
> 
> 6/12/18 EDIT NOTES: Cleaned up lyrics to Crushed Velvet. Might edit further in future. Not feeling it.

That was probably the best nap you ever got. You hoped it didn’t keep you from sleeping well tonight. You still had work the next day, after all.

You tried not to let the guilt eat you. It was easier, though you wished it wasn’t. You didn’t know what was worse, the fact that this was becoming a regular thing, or that you knew one day it would be a shameless thing.

Were you even in a hurry to get a new camera?

No. You weren’t. You dirty creature, masturbating to your vulnerable, sweet, amazing friend who loves you and respects you _as a friend_.

In a burst of self-sabotage, you buried your face back into the pillows and willed yourself to go back to sleep, hoping that your dreams would be gentler than your waking truth.

 

He had crossed over the threshold of sleeping for the normal few hours and into the dangerous territory where everything was heavy and he couldn’t find the surface separating his waking and dreaming selves. He reached up as far as he could but the surface escaped him, until the light shimmering on the barrier faded and he was pulled further into the depths of his psyche.

He was kicking and screaming. He didn’t want to go back to that darkness. He didn’t want to see the Man. The Man who walked on all fours, his bones bleached but oozing crimson water that couldn’t stain the pristine white floors.

The Man with the same marks in his skull, the ones with darkness seeping from the cracks, calling to him. There was a darkness in him that answered that call, and he was terrified of that. He tried to stay away, but the Man crawled closer on his bleeding bones, and the red water, too thin to be blood, smelled cloyingly of flowers and regret.

The Man’s lower jaw was gone, his eyes empty, ringed in lines made of exhaustion and weariness. The sadness of a being who wished to never exist. The regret manifested into a Man whose wish was granted.

His tongue, like tar, hung from the cavern of his being, unable to be cradled by the missing bottom jaw. He lapped at the crimson water, as if to remind himself that something was real, at least to him.

 _This isn’t real._ He reminded himself. _The Man is not real._ But staring into those eyes, he knew he was only prolonging the inevitable.

The Man wanted to be whole again. He stood on his back legs, stretching up until he could almost touch the surface of reality, far out of reach. The Man looked down, and reached his hands down, arms stretching unnaturally, his hands a cruel parody of what should be.

_With holes in the palms._

“YOU’RE NOT REAL!” He screamed, and the Man melted away, staring him in the eye every moment of it. He was smiling. How could he tell he was smiling? He didn’t need to see. He could feel the Man in his head. In his soul.

He was in the floor, cradling his aching head, curling himself up into a ball. Now conscious, he could feel how cold he was. He turned on a light in the room to take stock of his surroundings. He needed to ground himself. “You’re not real.” He repeated, his voice rasping and sore. He’d been screaming in reality, as well then.

His legs were weak when he finally got up. He turned on every light in the house, unwilling to touch the darkness until it didn’t have that face in it. He went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, grabbing the only mug he owned from the sink and washing it out so he could throw in too much sugar and a tea bag.

He needed to feel close to you right now. He needed to remember what was real, what was different from back when his memory stopped making sense. What happened before the markings came? Did he always have holes in his hands? He didn’t know, but he felt like he should. He needed to quit thinking.

He could still smell the flowers. He grabbed the tea bag and inhaled deeply of it. Peppermint. It chilled his entire head. How it worked when he had no sinuses, no lungs, he had no idea, but. He considered it your own special form of magic.

He didn’t summon extra hands after nightmares if he could help it. Aside from lighting the house up quickly, he didn’t want to see them around him. His magic could only take a form he felt and understood-- and he was too afraid it would take the Man’s form. He was afraid he’d somehow pull him into reality.

He was afraid he understood the Man enough to make him real.

He went to the bedroom and opened the laptop. You were online at this hour? It looked like it.

 

You were dreading the coming day. You’d overslept. You would be exhausted less than halfway through your shift. You were stressed, aggravated, and trying to keep your mind occupied.

“Are you up?” He messaged, and you stared at the words for a moment.

“Yeah.” You answered, unable to think of anything to add.

There was an unbearable pause before you saw he was typing. He deleted what he was working on. You waited. He was typing again.

“Do you want to call?” You asked.

He typed. Backspaced. Typed. Called.

All the lights were on and he was staring into the mug of tea.

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked.

He seemed startled. Was his hand shaking? He offered a very fake smile but didn’t talk.

He hadn’t had a nightmare since before you started voice chatting, so when you figured it out, you came closer to the microphone and spoke softly. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe.”

You knew it wasn’t easy for him to believe those words. If it was the same type of dream that he’d told you about in the past, you knew it would do little to convince him. But you saw him relax.

“I want to see you.” He said. “I know you’re real. I know you’re there… but…” His voice was painfully raspy. He took a sip of the tea, but it didn’t help. You figured he strained himself screaming. Again.

You began fiddling with the cords again, hoping they would settle just right. He needed you.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said, barely above a whisper. Louder, he asked. “Can I sing something for you?”

“Of course.” You said, still fiddling with the cords. You were too worried to let his voice bother you. You told yourself you had no intention of fucking around while he was in this state.

“I… don’t really wanna play, so I’m just gonna sing it, okay?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m here.”

He breathed, in and out, struggling to regulate himself. “I just. I don’t know how to make him go away.” He said. “Why did he come back?”

“When did these dreams start?” You asked. “Maybe that has something to do with it?”

“I don’t know when they started. I don’t remember…” he took a deeper breath to calm himself back down. “I… I can’t remember much of anything from before we got to the surface.” He rubbed at his face, trying to relax it. You found yourself wondering how his face was tense without muscles. “It only took four months for me to forget about it.” He sounded bitter.

“You deserve to sleep easily. You shouldn’t have to be afraid to sleep.” You told him.

He nodded. You didn’t hear him clearly, but you noted that he muttered under his breath, and his posture was stiff, as if he were anticipating something was going to grab him from behind.

He was so tired of running, of hiding from the dreams. “I hope you’re right.” He’d said. It had hit him: what if this was payment for something he did before his memory came back? What if, in some way… these dreams were penance for something he’d done? What if he was just suppressing the memories out of some selfishness on his part?

“Hey, hey.” Your voice was soft. “Slow down.”

He had been hyperventilating again, hadn’t he? “Sorry.” He breathed.

“No, don’t be sorry.” Every now and then he caught a split-second flash of you on the screen. Not enough to see you but enough to know you were there. It was enough for now. Your wires were still shorting.

He took a deep breath and held it, releasing it slowly. He remembered telling you the process and how it naturally shouldn’t have anything to do with him, since he didn’t even have lungs in the first place.

It had been something Gentem had taught him. His smile quirked a bit. Gentem had had a rough time helping him with the nightmares, but he’d done his best. The quirky monster who had found him on the streets and offered him a job and a couch to sleep on until he could get back on his feet.

“You would have liked Gentem.” He muttered.

“Who?”

That’s right, he never talked about him. Usually, it was a sore topic, but right now, he was either raw enough to not mind, or the thought of his first real friend was soothing his current emotional flux. Especially with the bittersweet idea that you and he would have gotten along famously.

“Gentem was 8 feet tall. Looked like a huge bear but loved this dorky steampunk stuff. Had a cobalt blue, velvet top hat with cog-patterns burned into it. He had a set of goggles, and they didn’t fit his head because they were made for humans. So he wore them around his hat. He loved all that weird stuff.”

He was smiling wistfully, and you watched him, letting him go on. And if later he remembered to sing, that was fine too. Whatever made him feel better right now.

“I refused to go with him the first time he found me, and then after that, he started turning up everywhere. Eventually, he just picked me up in a bear hug-- heheheh-- and just carried me to his apartment. He had a little coffee shop filled with gimmicky steampunk themes. It wasn’t very popular except among other monsters. I performed there for tips, served drinks. He let me crash on his couch. And we’d drink, and laugh. He’d tell me weird stories, and _fuck_ he never shut up about history.”

“He sounds amazing.” You admitted, smiling from the warmth of his expression. You didn’t want to ruin the moment by asking what happened, but naturally, you didn’t need to ask. His face fell, and you realized it was only logical that he would tell you the rest of the story.

“There were some humans who felt threatened by his business’s success. People were coming in for music, staying for his rich humor and the little scones that he baked every morning. We started hosting little parties at night. He did all kinds of nerdy things, trying to unite humans and monsters under the guise of fantasy games. It… it was actually a lot of fun. But these guys didn’t like it. I went with him to go get supplies for the next week. I was just the driver. I stay in the truck so no one steals it, he goes in, gets the order, loads it in the back, and we go.”

He sighed. “But he got cornered. This… big-ass monster with shoulders wider than most doors… two, maybe three, guys with steel baseball bats ganged up on him. I heard a weird noise, got a bad feeling in my gut. You know how that is, right?”

He didn’t wait for a response. “I went to see what was going on, and found him dying, clutching a steel bat that he’d bent in two. I can only guess he grabbed it when someone swung at him and he bent it to try to scare them off. I wish it had worked.” He swallowed and looked around for a moment before grabbing the mug of tea and taking a gulp of it with a noticeable wince. It must have gone cold.

“There were no other bodies. He wasn’t a fighter. His hat was stomped on, covered in dirt a few feet away, goggles busted. His vest was torn up, a bit. Maybe one of the guys had a knife.” He took another sip of the tea. “His muzzle was absolutely obliterated. His jaw was dislocated, and he was crying.” His mouth was a thin line.

“He couldn’t tell me anything. I couldn’t even get him help. We were out of monster territory. Where we were picking things up, it wasn’t even widespread knowledge that monsters turn to dust when they die. No evidence but a bent bat and a crushed hat. He didn’t have any family, so I gathered him in what I could and took the truck home. I had some kind of breakdown when I realized he was gone. And then I realized what that meant.”

He looked up. “The business, the world that he’d built trying to bring everyone together was gone. In an instant. It was all gone, with no one left to keep it up but me. And I didn’t know how. I had no idea what to do. I didn’t know where to start. I tried so hard… but it ended with me just stumbling over the edge and directly into the bottle. I broke the guitar he’d bought me when I blacked out once. I told myself I’d never drink again.”

He laughed. “Doesn’t work that way though. You can say you’ll cut your arm off but until you have the saw and tourniquet, who are you kidding? I wasn’t ready to quit. I’m not even sure if I wanted to. The more I drank the less I dreamed, and I had no outlet anymore without it..” He took a breath. “I cut off all ties to everyone else, and I sold the business to Muffet. She was looking to expand and was willing to keep the spirit of the place alive. The way Gentem would have wanted it. The way I was unable to do it…”

“Hey, having a business is hard work. You did the best you could.”

“If I was doing my best, I wouldn’t have been drinking.” He said. “But…” He grinned wryly. “And now the weather!”

He was trying to change the subject, and you let him, though you felt maybe you’d said something wrong. You didn’t know what to say-- all you knew is you wanted to help.

“What’s your favorite band? What inspired you to start doing music?” You asked out of the blue.

It took him a second to adjust to the question. “I… Listen to a bit of everything, I guess…” He took another deep breath. “I just go with what feels right. Same with writing. And I can’t think of a favorite song or band.”

“Do you have a favorite song to perform?” You asked. “Among the songs you’ve written, is there one you love more than the others?”

You watched as his expression changed. What was that? You could see him visibly brighten. “Nah.”

“C’mon, tell me!” You pushed, eager to know what it was that made such a difference so quickly.

He turned away. “Agh, it’s…” He was going to choose a song at random to avoid this, was he?

“Hey, what’s up? Is it some top secret thing, or is it embarrassing. Oh my god, are you _embarrassed_?”

“No!” He said, but he was blushing a bit. You squealed with laughter and rocked in the chair a bit. “Shut up! I’m not embarrassed, the song’s just… not ready yet.”

“Fine.” You grumbled jokingly, and had the pleasure of seeing him roll his eyes, even as his blush intensified. “Come on though. I’m not asking you to sing it. If it makes you smile like that, why don’t you want to talk about it?”

 _Please don’t delude yourself into thinking he’s smiling like that for you._ You begged yourself.

“How about I sing something else. How about…” He thought for a moment. “You liked Three-Seven-Five, right?”

“It was one of the first ones I heard.” You admitted. “Will that one upset you though?”

“I’m not ashamed anymore. I don’t drink. I haven’t in nearly two years now.” He paused. “Come to think of it, you want a band that I listened to a lot during that time? Mudvayne. Lots of songs about substance abuse. Really resonated with me.” He said. “Plus, nothing feels better when you’re fucked up than just screaming until you can’t breathe anymore because it hurts to.”

“How does that even work?”

“Look, it’s my body and _I_ don’t know how it works. Haven’t exactly seen anyone else like me, either, so I have no idea if I’m just some weird outlier even amongst monsters… or if everything I do has a reason. No honest idea.”

“Granted. Go on with the song.”

He was much stronger now. He’d vented it out, gotten away from the fear, past the anger. He felt much lighter now. He was grateful. Hopeful. But that wasn’t what the song was about. He grimaced as he tasted the words again and reached for his guitar. He could bear to play it now.

“Pry my head open wide, leave me nothing left in which to hide… I’ll cradle you against my chest, I’ll let you break me till all that’s left is dust.” He picked carefully with his fingers. “I’ll kiss you till I forget. Help me maim myself-- It’s only a game.” His voice was still slightly raspy from shouting, but he wasn’t fucking up too badly.

“Waking up in the floor, and I feel like I’ve been dead. Why do I keep coming back, why do I seek you again? Leave me alone, I’m done playing your games… I say it, and yet I wake up with you again.”

He put a growl into his voice, and it sent chills through your skin. “Pry open my mouth and pour yourself inside until I drown. I’ll pretend I’m the victim, hoping this time I’ll stay down. Pulsing in my head-- It’s not just a game.” You wanted to know he was okay. What was the act and what wasn’t anymore?

“Waking up in the floor, and I wish I were dead. Why do I keep coming back, why do I seek you again? Feed me baby, knock me out so I won’t dream… I say it, and yet I hate when I’m with you again.”

He was visceral. He was biting the lyrics. “Waking up in the floor, and I wish I were dead. Why do I keep breathing? Who’s is this house I’m in? Just one more kiss, I said, but today instead… I’ll break you, leave you, and find myself again.”

He grinned at the camera-- at _you_ \-- and you just felt like the luckiest nerd in the world. You were clapping and making entirely too much noise for-- “Oh, shit. Dude, look at the time.”

He looked and let out a huff of incredulous laughter. The call had been going for nearly three hours now. That couldn’t be right! Then another thought hit him. “Aw, you have to get ready for work soon, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry about that right now! Please don’t remind me how miserable today is going to be.”

He chuckled. “Is it really that bad?”

“I’m going to be exhausted before I even get to lunch break.”

“Hmmm.” There was a teasing glint in his sockets. “Any way I can improve the quality of your day? Maybe another song?” His grin hit you where it hurt and you tried to play it off casually.

“I’d love to hear you sing while I get ready for work.”

“Perfect.” He damn near purred it. How the fuck did he do that? How was that legal? “You choosing a song, or should I?”

“Uh.” You were in the process of stripping your shirt off, and bumped into the desk. You hoped nothing fell over, like your travel cup next to your keyboard. Was anything in it? You were too busy trying to get out of the damn shirt. You didn’t remember it being so hard to take off before, but it only served to remind you that your day, other than this little slice of sinful heaven, would be shitty.

“How about…” He was looking down, as if at a list of things. “Stained Glass. I haven’t sung that one to you yet, have I?”

“Oh, I see what you’re doing.” You teased, though your heart was pounding. “You’re trying to make me blush.”

“Bet it’s working.”

He had no idea. You took off your sleeping shorts and underwear and waited until he started strumming again to touch yourself. He wouldn’t be able to hear any tiny noises you couldn’t manage to hold back if they happened while he played and sang.

At least, you hoped with all your might.

His voice was even more sinful than you remembered, and you fantasized what it would be like to have him sit in your chair with you astride his lap. You wondered if he had a dick. You were imagining how big it would be, how careful he’d be not to hurt you, and how you’d barely be able to hold him.

This very song was proof he had a dick of some sort, right? Considering the origin story… You were too far gone to steal glances at him, letting his voice wash over you. At one point, you were afraid you made too much noise, and you stopped dead quiet for a moment. He hadn’t reacted though. He was still singing, and you fell back into practice, grinding against your hand and imagining the feeling of him.

You wanted to grab his bones and hold him to you. You wanted to see what touches drove him wild. You wanted to hear what he sounded like when he came undone. You could only imagine how decadent it would be.

How his breath might stutter, his voice a breathy growl against your ear as his arms held you closer. “Agh, _fuck_.” You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your whimpers as you fell over the edge of your pleasure, with no one to catch you but the chair. You tried desperately to calm your breath back down, but you were starved for him.

You would sell your soul to be able to kiss him, to bring him to that point… hell, to just cuddle with him. You wanted him. You wanted to share so much with him. And yet you were too afraid to say so-- and now you were quite disgustingly using his image to pleasure yourself, without his consent.

You didn’t want to look at him for longer than a second, because you were ashamed of yourself. You decided to get up and get ready like you said you were going to.

You had been awful quiet again. “Did I do a good job? Heh.” He sounded smug. “Did you run off to make some breakfast and forget about me?”

“No, no.” You said, looking through your clothes and trying to keep your pulse in check. “Um. I’m just getting everything ready.”

He hummed in agreement and didn’t say anything else. You didn’t want to look his way yet. You couldn’t bear to. Your heart ached and your legs shook and you just wanted to lay down on the bed and suffocate yourself in the pillows for a bit.

You got dressed, and there was a noise on his side of the screen. “Shit. I gotta go.”

“What’s up?” You asked. “Got a girl coming over?” You tried to tease, but the anxiety showed in your voice and you prayed he didn’t hear it. You begged him to not be perceptive right now.

“No, I spilled my tea, and I need to get a hold of my landlord before his office closes.”

“Closes?-- Oh, shit, yeah. I forget you’re so far away.” You sighed. “Well, I guess it’s best to get off now.” You struggled into your pants, falling over onto your bed in the process and laying there in defeat.

“Yeah.” He replied absently. “Uh… So I’ll message you when I get out of work, okay?”

“Can’t wait.” You said. “I’ll catch a nap when I get home so I’ll be ready for you.”

He chuckled darkly and your skin prickled. “Later then.” He said, and you swore there was a biting innuendo there. You licked your lips and got up, violently tugging your jeans on so you didn’t have to waddle to the desk. He had already disengaged the call.

You couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into his tone. Had he heard you? Was he just teasing like an asshole?

You were filled with dread for the rest of the morning.

 

~~When you were taking your shirt off, there was a crash and a thump, and suddenly he could see you, trapped in the confines of your shirt above your head, your upper body stark bare. He stared blankly for a moment before averting his eyes.~~

~~Surely you’d notice the camera was on soon, right? He should just…. Play it cool until then. He couldn’t just outright tell you he could see you. You’d panic. He could bear to not ogle you, though he admitted to himself he wouldn’t be averse to the prospect of doing so if you were up for it. He stared a hole in the floor, glancing up occassionally to see if you were going to get up and get dressed like you said, or even just… do something.~~

~~You just sat there as he played. With every moment, it became increasingly harder to pretend he couldn’t see you-- and then he noticed something that almost made him stop playing. You weren’t just in the process of changing clothes. Your eyes were shut, biting your lip, rocking against either a toy or your hand.~~

~~Was this really happening? He wasn’t sure what to think at first, but he roughened his voice a bit, and felt satisfaction when you let out a little noise, went still and quiet, waiting to be caught, but he just kept playing, grimacing at the feeling of the hard guitar against his crotch.~~

~~By the time the song ended, he was afraid his guitar would have a dent in it. He’d gotten to look at your face while you unraveled before him, and he almost trailed off mid-line. He couldn’t look away. He watched your chest heave as you tried to catch your breath as quietly as you could, and then saw your face break.~~

~~Were you ashamed of what you did? For a moment, he wondered if that meant this was just a fetish to you. If the other-ness of him was what aroused you. It burned a bit, and he sat there in the silence after the song, thinking. You got up to go explore your closet, presenting him with a nearly full-shot of your body.~~

~~He asked if you were okay, mostly to dispel any suspicion that he could see you. You responded, and he heard the same tone to your voice, you were still the same person he’d come to care so much for. He couldn’t believe that you would think of him as a sexual object. He didn’t _want_ to believe that. It went against everything he knew about you.  
~~

~~He didn’t know why you looked so depressed, but he was going to find out. He was going to learn everything he wanted to know… A wicked grin lit his face up.~~

~~This was going to be fun.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just so you know, the strikethrough part, i was debating whether it would even be in the story at all, but I figured it won't ruin anything so much as just.... leave you wondering what will happen next. You might notice that the chapter cap has changed. Don't be intimidated by that. Next chapter is the entree. Consider the final two chapters as dessert.
> 
> VOTING:  
> So far, I have one vote for Untitled to be the first song to record. I'm still taking votes on that! Let me know what you're interested in! You can now vote for Crushed Velvet and Three-Seven-Five, as well!


	5. -Hole- New Way of Lending a Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirror Man:
> 
> About: I couldn’t play for this one. Shoutout to GixieGold for helping me format this digitally. Thank you for providing the effect this track needed. I owe you one, sweetheart.
> 
> Lyrics:  
> All you are. All you are. You are just a lie. / Die inside, die inside, never were alive.  
> I don’t know you, I’ll scream until I die. / I don’t know you, it’s a lie, it’s a lie.  
> Who are you and I?
> 
> (chorus)  
> The Man in the Mirror made of blackened blood / I’ll run 'til I’m free of your binding threads  
> I don't need your name, I don't need your voice / Because I’m not you. I’m not you. I’m not you.
> 
> My hands shake, I just quake. You are just a lie. / Keep telling myself, telling myself I can hide.  
> I won’t save you, I won’t help you willingly. / I won’t save you, never free, never free.  
> You are not me!
> 
> You are not me. You are not me.  
> (Whispering in my head. Echoing there, you're dead.)
> 
> (chorus)
> 
> I won’t save you, it’s a lie it’s a lie / Who are you and I?  
> I don’t know you, I’m never free, never free. / You are not me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you butnobodycame for the title to this chapter. It's our first chapter that isn't the name of one of Strings' songs. You'll get the pun later, I promise.
> 
> The song lyrics in this Summary were very fun to write, and I'm still waiting for someone to decode the numbers ^.^ Also, the weird formatting in these lyrics is so AO3 will let me post it at all. Apparently the lyrics were too long, almost, for the Summary box.
> 
> This ENTIRE CHAPTER is smut, by the way. You've been warned.
> 
> 6/12/18 EDIT NOTES: Fixed the lyrics, changed the name. I always secretly hated this song, especially when i explored Strings' creation and realized it made no sense, so HERE WE GO I OVERHAULED IT. It was literally just supposed to be about his nightmares. This version is also singable. I can fathom how I want it to sound, though it'll take a lot of exploration to figure out how i wanna do it, since it'll be in a different style than all the others due to Gixie producing it rather than Strings. Gixie is a musician who primarily made electronic music, and I have no idea how to replicate the sound i imagine from her. I'll figure it out somehow though. Provides a good challenge.

He scrapped the project he was working on and flung the guitar onto his bed. He couldn’t concentrate. He was thinking about how your face looked when you came. He had been distracted at work, too. He couldn’t get his mind off of anything he’d seen.

The feelings he had for you, especially the more sexual ones, were in full force now, and he was hard pressed to silence his thoughts. He sat there for a moment and started thinking.

He wanted to let on that he knew, but at the same time, he wanted to see you do it again. He wanted to ~~experiment~~ test his ~~hypothesis~~ ideas. So when the time came and you called, he answered with his guitar in his lap to hide the impending erection, praying that your camera would still work.

It did, and to his absolute joy you had cut out the middleman and come to the computer right after a shower-- completely nude. He still had to pretend he didn’t see you. He wasn’t exactly proud of his ability to lie but it came in handy now. All of the act-like-you're-not-an-alcoholic-and-a-failure days he’d had finally paid off, he mused with a small amount of self-revulsion.

He was curious just how far his magic could reach. So now that he could see your side of the screen, he took occasional glances, taking care to not do so too often or to appear as if he were looking at something he could actually see. Luckily, you weren’t paying much attention, or so it seemed.

He summoned a spectral hand in your room behind you, just to see if he could. Thousands of miles away, but he could see the area. It was exhausting. Absolutely exhausting, but he could do it. He could work on it. He grinned for the rest of the call.

 

The next few nights were much the same, and each attempt to summon spectral hands got easier. Vastly so, to his surprise. He was concerned that he might have more power than he should. What else could he do that he didn’t know he could? How could he adapt so quickly?

That discovery didn’t keep him up at night nearly as much as the sight of you staring at the hole in his palm as you came, gasping and then playing it off as saying you spilt hot tea on you.

He was sincerely glad that you didn’t have a mini screen that showed you what your camera was picking up. You had disabled it when the two of you had started video chatting, because you had a habit of making eye contact with yourself and feeling awkward about it.

It was cute, he thought at the time. Now it was extremely convenient and added to the fun on top of that.

He took to saying your name more often when he noticed how it made you shiver. He almost felt like you were shivering at a physical touch he provided with how sensitive you were when he spoke in certain tones, and with certain words. You loved the way he said your name. You became bolder when he sang, but he’d managed to get you over the edge during an inane conversation, guiding you with his voice as he recounted a very strange escapade he’d had years ago.

“So GixieGold was an old girlfriend of yours?”

“I keep business and pleasure separate.” He protested, keeping his tone soft and dark. “But yeah, to be more accurate, we had a friends with benefits kind of deal for a while, way back when I first got into music.”

“Oh my god, was she the one you wrote Stained Glass about?”

He laughed. “Maybe.” He taunted. You seemed to like to hear about what he’d done. He wasn’t sure why you’d feel that way. He’d feel jealous if you talked about previous lovers to him, if he was completely honest. They got to see a side of you he might never see, they got to touch you, hold you. All he could do was watch you unravel as he talked about what he could do.

Maybe that was what it was, he figured. You hadn’t encountered anyone like him before. You didn’t know what he could do. His talking about it made you able to picture how he could wreck you. The idea made him trail off mid-sentence, staring down at his guitar. His desire for you was becoming more insistent over the last few days, on and off camera.

Every time he got you to react more than you meant to, he suffered a bit. He wanted to react in turn. He wanted to tease you into outright moaning. He wanted to see you out of control, vocal, free.

Before it was just a joke but now he was legitimately afraid his guitar would have a permanent dent from his hard-on. Why did his body even react like this? Must have been psychological, he mused. Must have associated humans and their sexual endeavors with summoning one. He decided to call it the Pavlov’s Dick Effect. No, maybe Pavlov's Erect. That worked. 

 

Tonight.

The entire day at work, he was working fast, focused, with a look on his face that bewildered his coworkers. Sure, he’d smiled and laughed at work before, but this was different. He had been acting distracted all week, even been called to his supervisor because of it. Today, he was outperforming, with a devilish smirk on his face.

Normally he’d talk, but today, he seemed a bit lost for words. His expression was blank, but occasionally he’d look out the window and smile that nasty grin again.

 _Tonight_.

 

It had become as easy as breathing, stripping yourself naked and sitting down in the computer chair. Usually you were fresh out of the shower-- tonight was one of those nights. It helped you unwind and you liked to feel clean in at least one way before he drug you down into the cesspool your mind had become.

“Call Me.” He had messaged five minutes ago, about the time you got out of the shower to dry off. You grinned, your arms already breaking out in chill-bumps as you obeyed.

You heard what sounded like water running when the call connected. “Hey!” He said from off screen. “I’m just finishing up washing dishes. Get comfortable, I’ll be right there.”

He was singing, you realized. The acoustics in his apartment were pretty good. You couldn’t get much of the words, but you concluded that it very likely wasn’t one of his own songs. Whatever it was, it sounded amazing. Ambient, even.

You indeed did get comfortable, enjoying his singing and wondering what it would be like to come through his door. You could imagine seeing him standing there, singing, scrubbing, just being normal. You wondered what it would be like to see that everyday.

It wasn’t just your sexual fantasies you indulged in. No, with him, there was always desire for the mundane, domestic things as well. Sitting and talking over shitty b-movies together and laughing. Watching music videos together on his laptop while swaddled in the comforter on his unmade bed. Tossing popcorn or cheese puffs at each other trying to get them in each other’s mouths.

Going out to eat together, learning what each other liked and disliked. Learning what each other had never had before. Discovering new places together.

You wanted so much more than what you were doing. It didn’t encompass even a bit of what you felt for him. Your best friend. The man you… was it safe to say love? You decided it was. At least to yourself.

He had quit singing and the sound of the faucet stopped. He let out a hummed breath and you heard him approach. You grinned-- and then stared blankly when he came on and sat down in the chair in front of the computer.

He was shirtless and his pants were undone and hanging on his pelvis out of spite. His eyes were alight with nearly malicious amusement.

His grin widened as you tried to get your mouth to work. Your brain was out for lunch at the moment, it seemed. What the hell?!

“I can see you, you know.” He muttered softly.

Your breath left you. _No_.

He was so smug. He nodded to you and you realized that you were completely naked, gaping at him. “Do you know how hard it is to pretend to not see you doing that?”

“I…. Strings, I’m _so sorr_ \--”

“Don’t apologize.” His eyes darkened and he leaned closer to the setup. His voice made the hair on your arms stand up. “Go on.”

“Wh-what?”

He didn’t bother repeating himself. “You like to hear my voice, don’t you?” He hitched his brow at you. “You wanna undress me with your eyes, huh?” His voice dipped into a low purr and you whined. “What’s stopping you?”

He wasn’t even blushing. You swallowed your breath and remained frozen, still trying to process what was happening.

He chuckled. “I don’t remember you being this shy before. Would you feel better if I did something too?” He scooted his chair closer and adjusted the camera so you could see his body better. You got a lovely view of his pelvis exposed under his jeans. He laughed and you realized just how hard you had been staring.

"What do you think? Wanna give it a shot?" The light of his eyes narrowed almost maliciously. "You make such a nice face when you cum for me. I can’t wait to hear you this time."

 _Oh, fuck, why did I ever do this?_ You asked yourself but you were painfully aware of the feelings his voice and words elicited. You’d never heard him talk like this to you outright. There was always the buffer of another person, the safe wall of not allowing him to know how much you wanted him.

"C’mon, I can see you wanna." He taunted, and god if it didn’t make you shiver.

"Wh...when did you find out?" You finally managed to ask.

"You were undressing and must have hit the desk just right, and I didn't wanna say anything… thought you were getting ready for work." He said. "Took me a minute to realize what you were doing, and I played dumb. By time I realized it, it was a little late for me to tell you your cam was working again." He said. “I think that was a week ago.” You squeaked. The two of you chatted _every day_ , and he only just now said anything? You were going to smack the hell out of his smug mug.

He smiled. "It was so. _Difficult_. You don't know how hot it is to see you bite your lip when I say your name." You kept staring at him, still resisting the urge to touch yourself. A wicked smirk played on his face and he muttered your name. He was just being an ass now, you decided. He obviously _knew_ what effect that would have, and he was doing it just to see you squirm.

Your resolve, your shyness, broke and you looked away, face heated. Your fingers slowly traced around your clit and he watched your face, smile growing.

He said your name again, sternly, and you halted. "Look at me." He said, and you obeyed. "Good." His voice was dark and lovely, the rasp scathing you and making you want to whimper. He was _praising_ you? If you could reach him through the screen you’d deck him… maybe not your _first_ priority if you could reach through, but an eventual one.

You loved him but god _damn_ if it wasn’t so infuriating for him to look at you like that. This wasn’t his performer’s face, either-- it was something different. Something intoxicating and-- you were breathless, unable to focus, unable to deny that you were on fire from just his words.

"Tell me this." He said, and held up a hand, looking through the hole in his palm, right at you. "Why do you get excited when you see these holes?"

You clamped your mouth shut.

"Tell me and I’ll reward you." He said darkly, his eyes boring into you. _How the hell will he manage to reward me? He’s four time zones away!_ Your curiosity and arousal made you try to speak.

"I-I…" you hesitated even still. "I imagine what kind of marks it would leave if you… spanked me." You grew quieter as the sentence went on.

"Hmmm." He adjusted in his seat, and you noted he still didn’t blush. "That’s a good thought." Is this how he looked at those other people he’d been with?

“What are you going to do?” You asked, trying to bait him like he was baiting you. You did your best to look nice for him, but were worried that you weren’t doing it right.

He looked like he was focusing on something. He was muttering. “...good a time as any…”

You felt a touch, gentle and chilling against your bare skin. You squeaked and jumped at the feeling of the--

You turned your head to see it, and it was indeed one of his spectral hands. You stared for a moment, abashed, before seeking his expression again, for some kind of confirmation.

“Can you… feel?” You asked him at last as the hand continued to massage your shoulders and the back of your neck. You hummed with pleasure at the feeling, but you were still mystified.

“Yes.” His voice was burdened with need, and it drew your eyes back to him. You swept his form with your eyes, but he was still composed in all but his voice.

You reached behind you and clutched at the hand. You had the absolute joy of seeing him startle, his expression falter as you tugged the hand in front of you. You took a closer look, trailing your fingers over it, marveling at how it felt so real, so _solid_ even if you could see through it as if it didn’t truly exist.

Your fingers brushed around the rim of the hole in his palm. The way his bones were fused around the perfect circle, the small web-like connections that bridged all the metacarpals. You were fascinated, memorizing every detail you could. He shivered at the touches, and you wondered if he was ticklish, or if his hands were sensitive.

You glanced at his fingertips. “I don’t know why I expected callouses on a skeletal hand.”

He laughed, taken off guard. “My actual fingers have scratches on the tips from when I first started.” He admitted.

You looked closer. “I think I can see them.” You said, and then, as he watched, you kissed the tips of his fingers. He growled at you, and the hand moved from your grasp. You let it, choosing instead to watch him-- and with fascination you discovered he was struggling with an erection. He was trying to keep himself schooled into that stage persona, but you could see from the burning glare he gave you that he wanted nothing more than to bypass the screen and make you scream for him.

You whimpered, and then felt his fingers caress the inside of your thigh. Your legs flinched at the cold intrusion, and you crushed his hand between them. You laughed. “You’re cold.”

“Warm them up.” He growled, and you felt another hand at the base of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, close at the scalp, and then grab a fist of it and tug gently. You went easily with the pull, only to feel another hand’s fingers caress your throat. He made a noise of restraint. “God, I’ve wanted this.”

You hummed and allowed your legs to relax. With how your head was unable to turn in his grasp, your hands felt for his as he traveled up to the apex of your thighs, achingly slow. You shivered from the cold, even more so when two more hands appeared to grab your wrists and pin them on the seat of the chair on either side of you.

You could still see the screen, and you saw his tongue-- _oh god!_ you gasped-- dart out. He was teasing you even now. “I wish I could taste you.” He muttered darkly. “Would you like that? Would you want me to bite you?”

You whined, already wanting to beg for mercy, for anything. For release.

“C’mon. Answer me.” He encouraged you by pinching at your nipples, increasing the pressure gradually until you were arching into his grasp. “Would you like that?”

“Yes!” You cried, “Yes, please!”

“Mmmm, good.” He released your nipples, leaving them stinging, and his hands, still bitingly frigid and thrilling, swept a caress down your sides, leaving your skin tingling for multiple reasons. His hand exploring the area around the inside of your thighs finally ventured closer to you. You panted and tried to move your hips to greet his explorations, desperate for any stimulation there. “And why is that?”

“Ah?” You weren’t sure how to make him help you. You needed him to touch you. You looked to the screen to see his wicked grin entirely replaced by the look of a man drowning in his own thirst. He looked ravenous. Magnificent. _Wrecked_. “I…” What did he want you to say? Why you would like that? “I…” you continued to stammer. You wanted to come clean. You wanted to give yourself over to him. “I want to be yours.”

His breath stuttered and you watched him carefully, especially noticing that he was grinning. Not maliciously anymore, either. He had turned his head to keep you from seeing, but it was there. Your answer had pleased him in some way. It made your heart pound. It made you want to say it again.

His own hands began to move as well. He adjusted his pants and exposed his cock, and you licked your lips as you stared. He began to touch himself, and then his other hand made a motion in the air and you felt the touches around you intensify. The cold enhanced the feeling as you became aware the hands were moving. Rattling. Vibrating.

You didn’t have time to speak or marvel further, as his fingers began to tease your clit. You cried out at last and writhed in his grip. “Fffffuck.” He growled, and he played at your entrance, grinning at you when he felt just how ready you were. “Tell me what you want.”

You suddenly felt like crying. God, you wanted so much. You wanted everything. “Please,” You didn’t know what else to say.

“Say it.” He insisted, sounding desperate.

You tried to grind against his hand. “Please, take me.” Your words broke into a helpless whine, and he grunted, thrusting into his own grip. His spectral fingers pressed into you, still cold, still effectively vibrating.

It was one of the most surreal feelings, and you cried out when his thumb pressed at your swollen clit and circled carefully. He was being so careful, and you ground against him in an attempt to roughen the touches.

“Harder.” You begged. “I need it harder.”

Your eyes were shut, and the sound of his breath made you realize just how badly you wanted to feel it on you, feel him in front of you, around you, inside you. You needed him, wanted him more than anything you could remember ever wanting.

He obliged, his fingers moving in a rhythm you could only attempt to match. The rough tips of his fingers pressed just right and he curled them. You cried out and arched, your breath escaping you in pleas for more.

He was groaning too, his breath heaving. You glanced at him through lidded eyes, high on lust. His free hand clenched into a fist and the effect of the hands amplified yet again, the magic working through you until your entire body felt like it was vibrating. “Cum for me.” he commanded, and he let go of your hands. You clutched at the seat of the chair to ground yourself, crying out any syllable you could as you clenched around his fingers and bucked as you came hard.

In the aftermath, as you whimpered, still twitching from the aftershocks, you heard him gasp your name and cum as well. At some point during that time, the hands had disappeared, but you were beginning to suspect you blacked out for a moment or two. When at last the two of you caught your breath, you looked at each other and began to chuckle.

He sighed contentedly and collapsed in his chair. When the laughter faded entirely, you realized that neither of you wanted to get off the chat yet, though after that ordeal, both of you were exhausted. You could see very plainly that whatever he’d done with those hands had taken a toll on him.

“I’ll sleep well tonight.” He muttered. “Think I’m too tired to dream.”

“Do you ever have good dreams?” You asked.

“Do you?” He rebutted.

You paused and smiled as you decided to say what you wanted to. “When you’re in them.”

He grinned, face still upturned. It was that dopey smile you were coming more and more to love. He was beautiful right now. Softly, he spoke again. “Tell me.”

“Stupid stuff.” You dismissed, but he grunted in response and you let out a breath of laughter. “Fine. We’re usually just hanging out together. Eating together…”

“Sleeping together?” He asked.

You snickered.

“That too, but…” He trailed off. “I have this one dream. I’m cold and you’re there… and I try to tell myself at first that it’s just because you’re warm. Because…”

“Because you’re a dweeb.”

He smiled. “Yeah, guess I am.” He took a deep breath. “Point though. I was having dreams about going to sleep. What kind of Inception bullshit is that?” You made the Inception-BWAAAAA noise and both of you laughed a bit. He trailed off and you watched him as he stared up at the ceiling. “Most peaceful dream I’ve ever had, though.”

“We gonna talk about this later?” You asked him after the silence wore on.

“I’m not hopping out on it, so yeah.”

“I won’t either. You’re… not mad, though?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I mean… is it disrespectful to… fantasize about you without permission?”

He sat there for a moment. “What the fuck?” His eyes were alight with mirth when he looked at you. “That is… that’s… _That’s_ what you were concerned about?”

“What?”

“You looked so guilty after you came, the other times.”

“I…” You jolted. “Wait, what did you _think_ was wrong?”

“I was wrong. I knew I was. It doesn’t matter anymore.” He said, his tone brooking no argument. “But I think we both need some sleep.”

You nodded in agreement, and shyly murmured. “Same time tomorrow?”

“God, yes.” He said.

That night, you and he were both thinking of ways to push the envelope. Thinking of ways to keep this physical. Thinking of ways to perhaps broach the elephant in the room-- that this _wasn’t_ just physical, and it never was.

Thinking of how to dismantle the screen and thousands of miles between the two of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's Summary will be the revised version of Untitled. Perhaps with a new name.  
> The final chapter's Summary will be a timeline of when each song was written.
> 
> How does that sound?
> 
> So far we have two (three?) votes for Untitled to be the first recorded draft, and one vote for 375. 
> 
> At the time of posting this, I have just, as of like 10 hours ago-ish, received my first electric guitar. I'm hoping to learn enough to do a basic chord progression for the songs, but you'll have to be patient with me. I don't learn new things very quickly... and my hands are a bit small for the frets... Wish me luck! Any advice is welcome, lmao.


	6. Slippery When Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Update! (New Song)
> 
> Remember how I said I was gonna be posting a new song? Well, it's hit a rough patch. Got a few kinks to work out, if you know what I mean. But hey, it'll be out before you know it. I'm really proud of what it's shaping up to be, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I am. 
> 
> Thanks for being there, guys.
> 
> ~Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not meant to be what the chapter was about. This was not supposed to happen. But it did, and I hope you guys enjoy it. 
> 
> I managed to fit some character development in there, too, didn't I? Oh well. Have another chapter of frustrated smut! Next chapter SHOULD be the fluff I promised. I'm so sorry.

With every day, the two of you got more creative. There were still moments of hesitation, moments of shyness on both of your sides, but for every hour the two of you played around, there were two or three hours of you both talking about everything and nothing.

And yes, it was still immensely hard to avoid talking about feelings. For him it wasn’t even that he thought he’d be going too far to say it. It was that the words themselves were overdone. To take a feeling like this and put it into words that were so often misused and abused, it felt cheaper to him. He’d say it eventually, he knew it, but… it needed to be special. It needed to _feel_ right. He wanted you to have no doubt how he meant those words.

As for you, well… love is scary. You couldn’t stand the thought of losing him, especially if he decided that love was a bit too heavy. You guys had been talking, what, less than a year? He was also talented, beautiful, and just... You couldn’t imagine him returning the feelings. On some level, you were terrified that you were just another song to him. Just another fuckbuddy to write songs about.

Of course, you knew, deep down he wouldn’t do that to you. You two had gone through so much emotional hell with each other. He’d opened up to you about everything. About Gentem, about being homeless, about alcoholism. About his nightmares, even. And you knew it wasn’t something he eagerly talked about to anyone.

You were special to him, and you reminded yourself that. You were terrified, even still, but you continuously told yourself to quit stressing about how he felt. You trusted him to tell you. Eventually, you’d know. And you’d respect it. If, after everything, he wanted to be friends, it would hurt like hell… but you would put that aside for him. You wanted to see him grow, even if it wasn’t with you.

You felt he’d do the same for you.

 

He messaged you while he was at work. “Install the mobile video chat. I have an idea for later. Talk to me as soon as you get home. Do nothing else first.”

Wow, he was being demanding today. It made you eager to get home, and so you were the first person out of the parking lot, singing in the car all the way home. When you stepped through the door you kicked off your shoes and started to get undressed for your shower when you remembered his demands.

You installed the app while you pulled up the chat on the computer. He answered. “Did you install it?”

“Working on it. What’s up?”

“As soon as you get the mobile client working, chat with me on it, and show me what your bathroom looks like.”

You stared at him. “Is this some new kink you have or something?”

“I can’t manifest in areas I don’t have a spatial reasoning of.” He said, and you blinked at him in confusion.

“Hey, are you okay?” He never talked like that. “You sound… different today.”

He looked surprised, went over his words, and his eyes darkened. He faked a smile. “Oh, no. I’m fine. Just… uh. Message me when you have it, okay?”

He ended the call and you sat there bewildered as you stared at the screen.

He sat there for a moment, repeating the sentence back to himself. “Spatial reasoning. Heh…” He sighed, rubbed at his head and anxiously ran his fingers along the empty ridge in his skull. “My name is Strings.” He reminded himself, taking a deep breath. “That was just a dream.”

His computer pinged again, and he hit the answer button and shook off the nervousness that crept into him.

You were obviously on your phone now. The video quality was terrible, but it would work well enough.

“So why do you need to see my bathroom again?” You asked, trying to appear lighthearted, but he could tell you were concerned for him.

“You are going to get a shower.” He said. “Why do you have two shower curtains?”

“You don’t?” You asked.

“Why would I need more than one?”

You shook your head. “Is it a problem?” You asked.

He sighed. “I’ll work around it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked as you set the phone down, propping it up with something.

“I’ll be fine. Just…” He decided to be honest. You’d understand, and you’d worry either way-- perhaps more if he didn’t tell you. “Had another shitty dream last night and it’s got my head all fucked up.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like that before though.” You said as you began stripping. “I mean, nothing wrong with it. I know you’re smart, but…”

“Different kind of smart, yeah?” He said, but when you looked at the screen you saw his eyes were distant.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you continued undressing in silence.

“Sometimes I wonder who I used to be.” He said, his voice neutral. “Wonder if I had any family… or if there was anything I wanted to be. I think sometimes that I must have had something I wanted to be, yknow? More than anything, like most kids. I wonder…” He drifted off. “I wonder if kid-me would be proud of this.”

Fuck, if that didn’t make your heart ache. “Hey, hey.” You got his attention, and when he looked back to you, you saw just how vulnerable he was. “I don’t know about kid-you. But I know you. The person you are is a treasure, to me at least. The best you can do is be a treasure to yourself, too, okay?”

“I… the dream was different.” He almost whispered it, and the phone’s audio left much to be desired.

“Strings, you need to speak up a bit…”

He shook himself. “Start the water.” He said. “I wanted to try this. It seems fun.”

You wanted to ask if this was just something he wanted to do to get his mind off of everything. Was this a stress-relief thing to him now? You didn’t voice the insecurities this time, though. You did as he told you, bending over to reach the knobs, and you felt a stinging _slap!_ across your ass. You yelped.

“Sorry.” He said sheepishly. “I should have asked first.”

“You should have.” You said, but you were laughing. You twisted to look at the damage and sure enough it left quite a strange mark. “Holy shit, it’s like one of those paddles with the holes in them.”

“What, you used one before?”

You laughed. “Like I’d trust anyone around here enough to let them beat my ass.”

He chuckled too. “Does that mean you trust me?”

“Hmmm, I guess so. At least you didn’t wait until I got in the shower.”

He looked confused, and you realized he didn’t have skin. “Uh. It would hurt more then.”

“Oh. Got it.” He said. “But was that okay?

“Some warning next time.” You said.

 _Next time._ He sighed. “You’re great, you know that?”

You were getting into the shower now, “Why? Because I’ll let you touch my ass?”

“You… even when you don’t understand what’s going on, you’re so nice to me. Even if I do something wrong--”

“Dude, it’s okay.”

“No, listen.” He said. You turned and looked at the tiny screen. “It means a lot to me. You’re great. And I don’t just mean because.” He gestured to you. “I don’t mean because this.”

You giggled a bit and hid yourself behind the curtain. “Thanks.” You didn’t want to admit just how happy it made you to hear those things.

You heard a sound and a faint curse. Sounded like he dropped his acoustic. “I’ll play for you while you shower.” He said, his voice louder to compete with the water noises.

“What, you want me to sing along or something?” You asked teasingly.

Cold pressure on your lower back made you yelp. “What am I touching? I can’t see.” He asked almost absently.

“GOD YOU’RE TOO COLD!” You cried out, turning to shower the area with hot water. His hand stayed there, and didn’t seem to hinder the water, or change its temperature. “Holy shit, this is weird.” You said quietly, reaching around and touching the frigid hand.

“That’s a shame, I thought I could help you relax.”

“I mean… You might be able to.” You said. “Just don’t freeze me to death.”

“So what am I touching?” He asked, as he tuned his guitar by ear.

“My lower back. With the water hitting your hand, it’s not so cold.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Anything sore from work?”

“Just my neck, mostly.” You said, and felt the hand work its way up, using the ridges of you spine to trace up. You hummed at the feeling.

“Mmm I can work with that.” He said. “God, I wish I could see you though.”

Another hand materialized, feeling suspiciously like the one had split off in two directions. His thumbs worked carefully into your neck, his fingers firm against your soft skin. The heat of the water combined with the chill of his hands made the feeling as comfortable as it was alien. You let your head loll forward to give him better access to your neck, and he branched out slowly, drawing tiny pleased noises from you.

He paid special attention to your shoulders, and then swept down your back, as if mapping you out with his hands. You let out a little groan when he found a special area near the base of your spine, and he tended to it thoroughly until it was almost raw.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” You asked.

“It was really easy to learn all the pressure points and stuff. Did some research on it for Gixie, and it just kinda came naturally to me after I looked at a diagram of it. Internet’s a helluva drug.”

“Shit, if you ever decide to quit making music, you could make a killing with this.”

“It’s only fun on certain people, though.” He said mischievously as his touches wandered around your hips. He began playing the acoustic now. “Can’t do this to strangers.”

He was gripping your hips, his fingers digging into the softness before he released them with what felt like effort. “You have no idea just how badly I wish I were there.” He said as his hands drifted slowly across your pelvis, toward your core. “Can you imagine it?” He asked.

You could. You could imagine how his body would leave an imprint against your back. How your head would rest against his shoulder, leaving your neck open for him to kiss and bite at. How you wouldn’t care how cold he felt, because you were on fire from the idea of feeling his erection against your lower back.

One hand’s fingers delved lower still, and you whined.

“Did you need to wash your hair or something?” He asked.

You stammered. He chuckled warmly. “Just put the shampoo in your hair. I’ll do my best to get it out.” He said.

“You can’t see.” You said.

“Do you usually see it? I can go by feel.”

“How do you know this? Not like you use shampoo.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong.” He said.

Oh yeah, you remembered. This probably wasn’t the first time he’d done this.

“Never done this blind before, but that’s why I’m just doing my best.” He said. The hand between your legs reminded you of what was going on, and you whimpered again. “Mmm, that’s good. Think I can make you sing, still?” He laughed maliciously and you growled at him. He only laughed harder and sunk a finger into you. You hissed at the cold but couldn’t help but clench around him.

“C’mon. Get clean.” He said.

“Fffffuck you!” You groaned, trying to ignore his touches. You grabbed the shampoo bottle but it slipped from your hands and you bent down to get it.

Hands were on your hips again, gripping them almost painfully, and the other one still delved at your entrance. “God I just…” He had stopped playing music, so the sound of his growled words permeated the air around you and you shuddered in his grip.

You moaned at the feeling of his fingers going in and out of you. He started playing the guitar again and the hands on your hips disappeared again. You stood up straight again, your legs shaking a bit, trying once again to ignore the sweet pressure of his fingers in you.

You lathered your hair up and then told him you had. Hands worked their way up from your hips to your shoulders. “Sorry I just… need a starting place.” He said sheepishly.

You didn’t have the energy to reply as he massaged your scalp while still fingering you. The feeling of his hands on your scalp reminded you of menthol, almost making you lightheaded. He was torturing you so sweetly that you had to stable yourself against the wall of the shower because your legs were shaking worse.

“Did I get it?” He asked at last, and you felt your hair to see if he missed any. There was a bit, but you made short work of it before grabbing the conditioner and repeating the process while leaning against the shower wall, feet planted just solidly enough to keep you from sliding to a watery death.

This was definitely safe, wasn’t it?

“Where’s the soap at?” He asked.

“Give me your hand.” You said, and felt another one on your hip. You giggled this time, and grabbed it. “Starting point aside, you seem to really like my hips.”

He hummed in agreement and you placed the bar of soap in his hand. He lathered multiple hands up with suds and began kneading your flesh again as you combed through your hair. “Fuck, this feels so weird.” You managed to say.

“Good weird?” His teasing ministrations hesitated and you ground against his hand in protest.

“Please don’t stop.” You nearly whispered.

“Good weird, then.” He chuckled.

“God, you’re such a dork.” You groaned. “Please don’t make me fall and die while I rinse my hair.”

“Let me handle it. Just hold on, okay?” You felt safer letting him take control, even though he was technically the reason you could barely stand.

“I…” His efforts redoubled, and you cried out. “Shit, Strings, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep standing.”

“I’ll catch you. Don’t worry.” He said. “I got you. I got you.”

You trusted him. That’s how you ended up under water that was rapidly cooling, two hands rinsing your hair, two or three (you weren’t sure anymore. There was only so much you could take) more rinsing and caressing your body, and another bringing you closer and closer to climax. You could tell how much he was focusing because he had quit playing the music again.

You were trying to hold your breath, and when at last your hair was rinsed, and he gave you a moment to check it, you finally allowed yourself to breathe without being waterboarded. Your breath came in heaves and at this point you were clinging to the ridge in the shower for any leverage to keep you off the ground.

The water was getting colder, and that only seemed to intensify the stimulation somehow. His spectral hands almost felt hot as they pressed into your skin.

“Are you close?” He asked. You tried to answer but could only moan. You knew for a fact he could tell you were close. You could hear it in his voice that he was into this as well. “You gonna cum for me?”

You tried again to answer but that was when he decided to prod directly into that area that made you scream. Your legs buckled and your grip deserted you, but you didn’t hit the floor. Something was holding you up, and the stimulation continued. You ground against his fingers, crying out as you were wound tighter and tighter, on the verge of shattering.

With a scream you came, shivering from the sensations more than from the cold water-- which suddenly became too cold. You felt weak, and all you could do was whimper and reach for the shower knobs. You couldn’t reach so you pulled the shower curtain open slightly.

“Help turn it off?” You asked, looking to the camera and seeing him in the tiny screen.

Now that he could see, he was able to turn the shower off, and he lifted you out, swaddled you in the towel you’d picked out, and held you aloft with his magic as he toweled you off.

“Thank you.” Your voice was still so weak.

“Do you think you can walk?” He asked, concern rising in his tone. “You okay?”

You hummed in pleasure. “I’m fine. Lemme try. Set me down.”

Your body still felt lighter when your feet hit the ground. You looked at him questioningly, but didn’t ask what he was doing. Your legs didn’t buckle again, so there was that.

He began laughing and you stared at him again, waiting for him to share the joke.

“Since we can apparently have fun on the go, you wanna take me with you on your next car ride?”

You yelped. “You’re trying to kill me now!”

“No. If I was trying to kill you, there is much more I would do.”

“Like what?” You asked, and kicked yourself for inviting this wave of heat in his voice.

“Mmmm, do you like the idea of being punished today?” His grin hitched higher. “Want some more?”

You realized now that your evening had just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun with this fic that I can't stop writing it lol. I might post another one today, depending on how my day goes, so please keep an eye out for another chapter. If I put two in one day, you might not realize it unless you're subscribed to get emails when I post chapters of this.
> 
> Tell me what you enjoy, and what you want to see!  
> (and yes, I swear, eventually, they will meet. That was supposed to happen this chapter but.... I got distracted.)


	7. escApe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was dark. He couldn’t see, and he expected the Man to emerge at any moment, but instead he heard a voice like his own but older, colder. 
> 
> “Subject three has ruptured his vocal chords in the struggle. I will not be able to get recordable data from him now, but it is for the best. Now I may record the experiments as they happen without overloading the device with his screams.” There was sensation in his fingers. He was holding something cold. “I will now extract a sample from Subject three’s soul so that I can--” There was a muffled noise. Strings realized immediately that this was a CHILD the Man was talking about. A child who had screamed until all he could emit was tiny gasps and whimpers that sounded more painful than he could imagine. A child who sounded as though he was being gagged on top of everything so he wouldn’t make enough noise to hinder the recording.
> 
> Strings threw the syringe from his hand and yelled, trying to scramble away, but there was only darkness around him. At his divergence from whatever had happened, the recording glitched out and ceased. He was panting and sunk down onto his haunches. He curled himself into a ball. He felt small, helpless. Filthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww yiss, let's start the chapter out with a nightmare! That definitely bodes well!
> 
> GUESS WHAT THIS STORY HAS! THAT'S RIGHT, A FUCKIN [PLAYLIST](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLhzv9ei369KlXwWxcpU8O63jNJonATuu7)! Enjoy~
> 
> Yes, hello there. If you need something mind-numbing to do today to avoid the shitstorm that is America's bullshit political system, please feel free to peruse my fics. There's something for everyone, and if you get bored, hit me up on tumblr and i'll share a link to a top-secret original work i've been working on for a while now. 
> 
> BUT FIRST: THE CHAPTER. (which, btw is named for the song by Voicians. please go listen to it it's amazing and it was what got me through writing this. That song is on the playlist. So go listen to it!!!!)

Your daily talks became a surreal experience for sure. Now that both of you had the mobile client, Strings pushed it a little further.

One day he went to his car for lunch and messaged you. Five minutes later and he was grasping carefully at your throat with a spectral hand, feeling your pulse hammer against his magic. He knew how to do this without hurting you, and you had never tried it before.

Your fingers were intertwined with those of two more spectral hands, and when he’d let you breathe, you would grasp his hands tighter, hold them to you, while another hand teased your clit, bringing you closer and closer to release only to deny you over and over again.

“You gonna be good at work today?” He asked darkly.

You bucked against his hand, trying so hard to find the pleasure he taunted you with.

“You gonna wait until you get home and let me finish you off?” He asked, and you nodded furiously. “Good.” He purred and you absolutely melted at the praise. As much as you wanted him to finish you off now, you needed to get ready for work now, and he had to get back on the clock. You also knew he'd make up for it.

 

Another time, you told him to summon a hand for you, and you captured it in both of yours, bringing it closer to your mouth. “I want you to watch me and imagine what I could do if you were here with me.”

He could feel your breath against his hand and then you slipped two of his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them. You kissed the ridges of his knuckles and traced the hole in his palm with your tongue. He had never realized he was sensitive-- but that made him wonder if it was because it was you.

You told him to touch himself while you watched him. You told him you would much rather please his cock than just suck his fingers. He was slightly embarrassed that just watching and feeling you suck on his fingers, as well as your attitude, was all it took for him to cum.

It was something entirely different to see you take control like this, to see you tease him boldly, and honestly he was enjoying it more than he’d ever enjoyed it in the past. There was something conflicted in him. Part wanted to dominate, and another part wanted to surrender control and let you paint his world. It was as if he were two different people, constantly struggling to figure out which thing made him tick.

Somehow he was learning more about himself through this. You both were.

 

He began trying new things with his magic. He could summon the hands, yes, but what else could he do? He knew he was likely to wear himself out quicker with every new thing he tried, but this was honestly the most fun way he had of testing his abilities, so why not? Not like he used his magic much out of this context anyway.

One night, you gave him a new idea. “Can I see your tongue?” You asked. You wanted to imagine the serpentine appendage and all he could do with it.

He grinned. “Hmm, how about something even better?”

This would be an excellent way to practice more control. His aura was thick in your room, making it easier for him to summon-- but it also made it noticeably colder, and you wrapped your blankets tighter around you as you sat on your knees on the bed, legs splayed so you could touch yourself. The blankets staved off the chill of the room, but did nothing to ward off the caress of what you on first thought could only describe as a tentacle against your inner thigh.

Whereas most of his summons were cold, this one was warm, which surprised you enough that you almost panicked.

When you realized it was the closest he could come to summoning a tongue, you didn’t protest when he began to lap at you, the serpentine length unrelenting against your clit as you helplessly grinded against the sensations.

It certainly helped that he could feel through it, a bit. It was hot, but it just… wasn’t enough. He had to keep planning. He had to keep expanding his abilities.

 

He started having more dreams again, in the same vein they’d been in lately. _Sensory deprivation_ was the term, but he hated how clinical it sounded in his voice. Everything was dark, and he was able to hear and feel everything going on around him. It was somehow worse than the old dreams of the Man because now he felt more real. He had a _name_ , and it was too close to his own for comfort.

_“you can’t keep doing this, dings.” Another voice said, and Strings found himself moving his mouth to this one’s words. He sounded younger than the other one, but he also sounded like he couldn’t breathe. As if he were being crushed under the weight of his own conscience._

_“Quitting is not an option for me.” The Man said, with a noticeable slur in his voice. There was a sound of a dropped glass impacting on the floor._

_“make it an option.” The softer voice said. “you’re dying.”_

_There was a hoarse bark of dry laughter. “I’m fine. At least I’m facing my problems and not running from them like a dolt.”_

_There was a frigid silence before the smaller voice rose. Strings didn’t want to make the connection that he talked like this man. He didn’t want to consider how familiar the speech pattern was to him, where the Man’s was foreign._

_“pardon the fuck outta me, dings, if i joke about how fucked up i am while you sit here and drown yourself. for someone so goddamn smart, you sure have your head up your own ass, don’t you? look at yourself. you’re projecting your problems on me. **i’m** not the one destroying myself! **i'm** not the one who's running!"  
_

_“Leave.” The Man didn’t have energy to face this right now._

_“no. i’m not going **anywhere** until you admit this is a problem.”_

_“If you want to be removed from this project due to conscientious objections, I salute your ability to leave an obligation that hasn’t come to completion. I’ll put in for a new assistant immediately. Thank you for your time, Sans.”_

_“dings, that’s not what i’m after. you’re--”_

_“You wanted **out**. You are out. I don’t want to see you back here unless it’s to sweep my dust off my notes.”_

_Amidst the silence that followed, there was the crash of shattering glass right next to String’s head. He felt the splatter of alcohol, smelt the strength of it, and shivered as it dripped down his skull and neck. The tiny flecks of glass shrapnel bounced off of him easily enough, but the smell of the liquor is what made him flinch._

_“LEAVE!” The Man yelled, and Strings felt the other man sigh, hands clenched into fists._

_“sure thing… boss.”_

 

The two of you had been busy the past few days, and the times you had talked had been less sexual and more… feelings-ish. At your advice, he began to keep a dream journal, and he shared his thoughts and feelings on it with you. You always listened intently and helped him distract himself afterward. Because of that, there hadn’t been much time for the more sensual things.

He had taken to summoning a hand for you to hold after the calls disconnected. He could feel you, and he imagined that you were there, really _there_. It helped him feel safe when he was trying to rest, and he liked to believe you felt the same. The hand disappeared when he fell asleep, and you lay there thinking how it would feel to curl against him. How it would feel to hold him or be held by him. You wanted to be there to help him after he dreamed.

He was having trouble keeping his feelings in check anymore. You meant so much to him, and the more he dissected his feelings the more he understood just how important you were to him. It wasn’t just a matter of emotional dependency, either. It was becoming unbearable to keep it a secret, and he couldn’t think of a way to make the confession special from thousands of miles away… what could he do or say that he hadn’t done before?

You on the other hand were becoming worn down because you wanted to tell him how much he meant to you, regardless of distance. You wanted to tell him how he was the first thing you thought about when you woke up and the last thing you think about before you fell asleep. He had revolutionized how you thought of things, and had shown you so much of yourself that you couldn’t imagine yourself without him there.

It had almost slipped out a few times. Only through sheer willpower did you not cry out that you love him in the middle of cumming for him. You were cutting it closer every day now, but now that your mind wasn’t hazed with lust during these recent conversations, you found it was no easier. You wanted to scream it right now.

He had begun making plans, trying to figure out how his magic would react in different scenarios. If he was right, he could definitely handle.... Yes, he’d do it. Sure, it was spur of the moment, and there was no guarantee it would work, but he was going to do it!

Maybe it would even tire him out enough that he wouldn't dream again.

 

It was a quiet night, and there was tension there. Neither of you had suggested getting into the thick of things yet tonight one way or another, and so both of you were just stuck trying not to say something stupid.

It was a palpable effort.

“I’ve… been researching plane tickets.” He said at last. “Think I’ll have an audience down that way?”

The question took you off guard and you sat there for a moment. “Probably not much of one, honestly. This area isn’t very…. Hospitable.”

He laughed. “It’s hospitable enough, though, isn’t it?”

“Wait, are you saying you’re coming to visit _me_?”

“You saying I shouldn’t?”

“Agh…” You looked around at the state of your small apartment home. “I have cleaning to do. When did you intend to get here?”

When you looked back to the camera, though, he was gone. “What the fuck?” Maybe he’d just moved, got up to get some tea or his guitar from off screen. “Hey, this isn’t funny. If I could reach you, I’d deck you!” You stared at the camera, waiting for him to reappear when you felt someone else in your room. There was the shuffle of fabric and the sound of boots on your hardwood floors.

“No fucking _way_.” You refused to look away from the camera. “Either you just pulled some Houdini shit or I’m about to be murdered in my own home.”

You heard him chuckle behind you, and it made your skin tingle and your stomach hop into your throat. _Jeeeeeeeeezus that sounds different in person!_ His fingers-- the _real_ ones!-- placed gently upon your shoulder and you got up, following his touch, letting him wrap you up in his arms and hold you to him.

You felt like sobbing, your brain still struggling to comprehend him. Your fingers played at his ribs, snagging his tanktop in your hands. You breathed him in, tried to memorize the feeling of his arms around you, crushing you to him.

He was having a similar moment.

At last you found your voice again. “Holy shit, you’re really here.”

“Still wanna hit me?” He asked with an audibly dorky grin. You pulled back enough to see him, and considered calling him a nerd or play-hitting him to hide just how flustered you were… but seeing him in person, right here where you could _touch_ him...

You reached out and touched his face. He closed his eyes and allowed the exploration, only for you to yank him down closer and mash your face to his. He laughed against your mouth as you did your best to make up for lost time. He quickly matched you in fervor and you ended up breaking the kiss off so you could breathe.

He chuckled, looking more content than you’d ever seen him. He swayed the two of you, leaning in again, bumping his forehead against yours. He started humming something seemingly random, his voice dipping low. Once again you realized how the mic on his laptop didn’t work for shit compared to real life and you damn near melted in his arms. He chuckled and held you tighter in case your legs buckled.

“Stop.” You whined. “That’s just fucking cruel.”

He pressed his mouth to your temple and growled “But you love it, don’t you?”

You shuddered but kept your composure. “You’re an ass.”

“Sorry, I zoned out for a moment.” He said, still swaying the two of you but now also walking backwards, tugging you toward the bed. You walked along willingly. “I could have sworn you called me an ass.”

“I did.”

“Hmmm.” He pressed another kiss to you, soft and short. “I didn’t catch that. I’m sorry.”

You giggled and threatened his life jokingly. In response he picked you up. You squealed as he fell backwards onto the bed, pulling you with him. You landed astride him, thankfully missing his hips, as that would have hurt like hell for both of you, most likely.

You braced your weight on either side of his head, and his hands gravitated to your ass. You leaned in and kissed him again. “I can’t believe this is real.” You whispered against his jaw. You pulled back and just looked at him. You adjusted how you were to where you could sit astride his pelvis with relative comfort.

“Can… can I undress you?” You asked, suddenly shy for the first time in weeks. It felt different in person.

He sat up, still cupping your ass, and kissed you. “Go for it.” He said. “If I get to do the same to you.”

You took his tank off and explored his chest while he worked on your clothes. He kicked off his shoes and you elevated your hips enough that he could shuck his pants down to his legs and kick them off as well.

He watched you carefully as you observed him. There was something adorable in the way you studied him. It felt ticklish in his memory, and he shut the feeling out. This wasn’t a dream, he reminded himself. His past wasn’t relevant at the moment. Not with his future breathing against his bones, fingers pressing between his ribs experimentally.

You were so perfect. He leaned forward and rested his face in the crook of your neck, pressing his mouth gently to the area. This was better than he’d ever dared to hope. He’d thought the feeling of you against his summoned hands had been good enough but it was a parody of the real thing.

He wasn’t as frigid as the spectral hands made you believe he’d be, you discovered. In fact, he wasn’t too far from your own body temperature. You were just waiting to wake up. You were absolutely sure that this wasn’t real. But _fuck_ if you weren’t going to enjoy it while it lasted.

It was odd how, even after all the times the two of you had delved into kinkier, heavier sexual themes, somehow it was enough to just sit there for a moment, his hands sliding to your hips, leaving tiny kisses along your neck and shoulder.

There was a feeling of solidity here. You felt overwhelmed. Your fingers explored behind his back, your hands flattening over his shoulder blades, slowly progressing against the ridges of his ribs. You touched his spine, one ridge at a time with your fingertips, exploring up and up until you were cradling the back of his skull.

His arms went around you again. “Do you have to go back?” You asked, your voice small.

“Eventually.” He said. “Not until I have to.”

You snuggled your head against his chest. You hadn’t expected a heartbeat, but something was there. Like a dull throb within him that resonated.

He noticed your curiosity. “It’s not always like that.” He muttered. When you gave him a look of inquiry, he went on. “You can say it’s a…” He trailed off and blushed a bit, averting his eyes.

“What’s this? You're _shy_? After everything, you’re getting shy on me?” You taunted, but your heart was hammering. It was always such a treasure to see him flustered.

He grinned and the blush faded a tiny bit. “Kinda.” He said. “Maybe. I dunno.” He hummed and moved. You were thrown off balance, falling to the side only for him to roll on top of you, smirking down at you. “I’m _so_ shy. So very shy.”

You laughed. “Full of shit is what you are.”

He grinned and kissed you again. You were very very slowly sliding off the bed. You gave him a look that begged for help and he grabbed you, talking between kisses. “Work with me, hmm?”

“Yeah.” You managed to agree, arms around his neck as he grabbed your hips and lifted you off the bed. Your legs wound around his back. He crawled on his knees across your bed before letting you both fall onto the pillows. You laughed, but your mirth turned to a gasp when you felt his erection form.

“Sorry.” He said, “I don’t know why I summon one automatically.”

You giggled and leaned back to look at him, all of him. You finally had him here in front of you, and it was suddenly a very real situation. He was on your bed, between your legs, and he looked absolutely marvelous. There was something in his expression that made your heart stammer, made you forget your nerves and made you fully aware just how much you’d been waiting for this moment.

He carded his fingers through your hair, splaying it on the pillow around your head. With his other hand, propped on his elbow, he traced the line of your jaw and then down your neck, over the ridge of your clavicle.

“Is this okay?” You asked. It struck you that, if you could assume anything from his previous statement, he didn’t actively choose to suddenly pop a boner.

He looked at you for a moment. “What do you mean?”

You unwound your legs from around him, but didn’t attempt to shut him out. “Did you… want to…?”

He chuckled. “ _Now_ look who’s shy. I’m up for it if you are.”

“I’m not shy.” You protested, but your blush belied you. He leaned closer down over you, and you could feel the thrumming in his sternum against your chest.

He kissed you again, softly, passionately, and you tried to pull him closer, wanted to crush the two of you together until you were stuck. You didn’t care, you just didn’t want to lose this moment. “You ready?” He whispered, and you nodded. He reached between the two of you and lined himself up. You lifted your hips to help, and he pressed against your opening.

You whined, and he tensed up. “I’m fine.” You said, and then, softer, “Just… pent up.”

He chuckled. “I can tell.”

Before you’d met him, you couldn’t say you’d have imagined any of this even in your weirdest dreams. Especially not with the tenderness he showed in how he touched you. When people had talked about “making love” you had rolled your eyes but this was different. The phrase almost made sense now.

It didn’t take long for the softness to become firmer as you both found a rhythm and began climbing in tandem. He panted into your shoulder as you began to lose your vocal restraint. You thought you were doing okay until he groaned against your flesh, the sound buzzing along your skin, leaving you tingling.

It was the sound of him that reminded you this wasn’t some cam experience. The feel of him, nearly burning hot against your flesh to contrast the icy spectral hands. This was passionate, it was real. Your climax was rushing to meet you as his pace hitched in desperation.

He was damn-near crushing you to him as he angled his thrusts as best he could. Your noises ascended to whimpers and he could feel you getting closer. “C’mon, baby.” He panted into your ear. He was so close, but he could hold out for you.

It was so different watching you unravel over the camera than to feel it. Feeling you freeze underneath him as you clenched around him, your breath was taken from you and you clutched at him as he cried out and came with you. He panted, leaning back just enough to look at you before he kissed the rest of the breath out of you.

It was good that he didn’t try to move further away, because you didn’t know if you could loosen your hold on him. At some point your legs had wound around him again, and you didn’t know what bone you were grappling at the moment-- likely his shoulder blades-- but you couldn’t fathom how to extricate yourself from him currently.

Instead of even trying he just gathered you in his arms and rolled both of you over to where he was mostly under you. He touched your face, and you looked at him, saw the love in his eyes and almost teared up. You finally managed to move your arms and legs, and you struggled to disentangle yourself so you could just lay in his arms.

“Please don’t leave yet.” You murmured against his ribs.

He sighed. “Fuck it, I’m calling in today.”

You laughed and looked at the clock before collapsing back onto him and settling in for a very good day. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not done yet. Still got some confessions to write. 
> 
> By the way, I don't often write this type of thing. The romance thing. That's because I'm Aromantic. I don't understand romantic attraction, so it's extremely difficult for me to write it as I don't feel it.
> 
> I hope it was still enjoyable, even though I was sitting here like "what the fuck am i doing???" Please tell me what you thought in the comments! Love you guys, thank you for enjoying the story thus far!
> 
> (also on that playlist, there are so many of those songs i want to sing holy shiiiit~)


	8. Thawed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Update!
> 
> I'll be posting the new song at midnight tonight, my time. Get ready. 
> 
> And to my biggest fan out there...
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for thawing me out.
> 
> ~Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is going well. Sorry it took longer for this chapter. I had some writer's block. You know what happens when I get that? Nightmare sequences happen. 
> 
> When in doubt, add angst and the plot will tag along.
> 
> Speaking of plot...
> 
> (Trigger warnings for: mentions of suicide and suicidal tendencies, alcoholism)

_Crackling. His voice, the cold, clinical voice that was older than time was crackling as he dry heaved. He felt his hands grip the rail. He could feel the levels rising. Unstable. Something was unstable, and he didn’t care anymore. **Everything** had been unstable for him since this garbage began._

_The shame. The nightmares. The reports. The drinks. And then he was too high on his pride to admit when he was wrong. He ran off his last tether to decency. And now here he was. His stability was mirrored by the growth in the chamber as the glass cracked._

_Strings could see the writhing mass of vantablack seething and reaching from the shattering barrier just beyond the rails. He could see through the Man’s eyes as everything moved so slowly. He didn’t run. He didn’t delude himself._

_He was ready to disappear. For the pain to end. If he was gone, so too would his guilt vanish._

_He could hope._

He’d had to go home eventually, but he wanted to bring you back with him. He had slept so deeply. In fact, he’d only awoken after you poked him in the face for about five minutes while giggling into his chest.

The feeling of waking up like that was even more satisfying than the sleep, if he was honest.

He talked to his boss at work, and asked him if he would be able to change to the graveyard shift. The boss thought it was a pun at first, but when he realized Strings was serious, he eagerly agreed to reschedule him after this week. That meant he’d be on the same sleep schedule as you. Why hadn’t he done this sooner. Well, he didn’t like sleeping during the day… but since it would be night time where you were, or close to it, he technically would be going to bed _early_. He felt a bit sheepish with his “five-o'clock somewhere” logic, but it worked.

He didn’t want to mess up your sleep schedule any more than he already had lately. Not only did you miss work a couple days, but you’d been late on three other occasions since this started. Luckily you had enough sick days to cover your absences, but your supervisor would soon grow weary of it. You joked to him once that you considered telling your Supervisor that you were too busy “getting boned, not that _you’d_ understand, William.”

Of course, it was going to suck this last week before he was on graveyard shift. You needed rest, he needed to focus and do a bit of research. In other words, he was aware that he’d be lucky to see much of you that wasn’t over the screen. Sure, that had worked before, but touching you, tasting you… He was sufficiently ruined. An image on a screen was nothing compared to the real thing. And he was definitely going to miss the warmth and security he felt sleeping with you in your bed.

Briefly he considered asking you to take a week off work so he could abduct you, but that was an impulsive and very dumb idea. He was afraid you’d lose your job, and he didn’t want to take from you, especially your independence. Secretly, he might have sat down and done math to see if he could afford to keep you with him indefinitely. Considering he wasn’t human, he didn’t entirely know how expensive it was to provide for one. Gentem had been a fleshy monster, but aside from the tremendous amount he spent on shampoo, he hadn’t needed nearly as much as humans did.

He could afford it, he learned, but as he’d already stated firmly to himself, he didn’t want to hinder your independence or your career. There was a tiny voice in his head, still, and it that reminded him that there were open jobs in monster-run companies that were close to his home, within the safe confines of monster territory. There were even programs that provided help for human-monster couples-- at the cost of some simple information. For science, of course, though the idea irked him.

He sighed. He was thinking too far ahead.

Well, it was better to think about that than the dreams he’d been continuing to have. His dream journal was filled with the same three scenarios. As it was, he’d memorized the dialogue between the soft-spoken “sans” and the drunken, clinical “dings” though he wished he wasn’t capable of parroting it back to himself.

Why did he feel the sensations of either of them? Why not just one?

 _Fuck, let’s go back to thinking too far ahead._ He told himself.

He’d been revising the song you’d inspired, and it was finally to a point where he didn’t stumble nearly so much. He’d even given it a working title. _Thawed._

To distract himself now, he sat and strummed. He couldn’t focus though. It was getting worse. The feeling of his bones shattering as the Void consumed him, the way he could feel every piece of him like shrapnel being swallowed by nothingness.

And then there was nothing. Absolute absence until he finally screamed himself awake.

At just the memory of that, Strings found himself staring into space, clutching his guitar too tightly, his fingers leaving small dents on the side of the neck. He made himself start breathing again, deep calm breaths. He could handle this, he told himself. He could handle this, or else the memories wouldn’t have resurfaced. He’d been unable to recall anything, but now he could catch small glimpses into his past. Small, _terrifying_ glances.

It was hardly a consolation that even in whatever previous incarnation he’d had he’d also resorted to the bottle as a coping mechanism. And it certainly didn’t help him to see that he’d had a hand in his own erasure.

He remembered sitting at the computer, uploading Dust on My Screen, and sitting there, contemplating that same idea. He told himself to give it a few days. He was desperate to find something to prolong what felt like the inevitable. He felt like he’d reached the end of his rope, like he was just clutching at strands at the tip, swaying over an abyss.

The way he saw it, holding on would only last until the threads gave way. Somehow, he managed to keep holding on.

Thanks to you, he managed to start climbing again. And he was still climbing. Thanks to these dreams, he was terrified to stop.

He looked at the clock and saw that you would be home by now. You would be getting your shower and then you’d do whatever it was you did when you weren’t talking to him.

He breathed a bit easier as he considered you and the effect you’d had on him. The strength you’d helped him form. Even now, the solidity of you in his life had shaped him into who he was currently. He was better adjusted, understood himself more. The world was brighter.

And now that the dreams had brought his self-loathing to the surface, you were helping him combat it. You were there to remind him every step of the way that you were still there for him. You still believed in him, trusted him. You reminded him that he was still Strings, and even if, somehow, in some strange happenstance, he’d been one or both of those people in his dreams, he was not them anymore.

Even if he was some amalgamation of the two of them, his formation, his personality was _his_. He didn’t have the memories that made him either of those people. But, then, why did he speak like Sans? Why did he have such a natural knowledge of human pressure points? That little fact made him sick the more he thought about it. What if it was residual memory? What if he’d used it--

“Stop.” He told himself, and got up, walking around the apartment while strumming on the guitar. He hoped the movement, the actions would make him quit dwelling on it.

He’d need to write all this down in his dream journal so he could push it from the forefront of his mind, but he told himself he’d do it later. If he wrote it down, he was afraid that would be like making it real.

It was already too real.

 

The week was a struggle for him, but you used it to your advantage, getting everything ready for the prospect of him visiting more often. You went shopping for all the ingredients you’d need for an entire month. You wanted to cook him something, but couldn’t decide what would be best. Also, he had promised to cook for you as well. 

The two of you still messaged when you could, and neither of you were happy that you couldn’t see face to face at the moment, but it was for the best. Work, money-- these things were important. Especially to Strings, you knew. He’d been homeless once. You knew he’d never let himself be again, and if he could help it, he’d never be at someone’s mercy again.

Had he not needed to have a day job to assuage the anxiety and fear of homelessness, you would have offered for him to live with you-- but of course, that wasn’t a good idea for other reasons. You were beginning to wonder how safe a monster would be around there. It didn’t look good-- and if he knew the extent, he would demand you move.

In light of recent developments in the neighborhood, you had to closely guard your relationship. You kept your windows curtained and blinded for good measure, kept everything locked, and you applauded your foresight or luck in getting a rental home instead of an apartment. Even though you didn’t have cameras focused on your door like you would have at an apartment complex, you didn’t have to worry about people hearing you get loud, usually.

You just had to worry about trespassers. You had to worry about who slashed the tires of a local “monster lover” and wonder what else they’d do to someone they deemed disgusting.

You couldn’t let Strings know. He’d panic. He’d break down. You didn’t want to see him like that-- you didn’t want to be the next Gentem to him. You’d start saving up and look for a new job out of town, somewhere friendlier. You had time. Plenty of time.

You also bought soundproofing measures for your bedroom and a home surveillance system. You kept a blunt instrument by your bed and another one behind the front and back doors, in case you ever needed one.

You wouldn’t be the next Gentem to him. You would fight back.

 

God, he was tired. Tired enough that he didn’t dream this time, but he still awoke exhausted and emotionally drained. He had been taking his dream journal to work with him and writing in it during breaks so that he could collapse in bed after work and die for a few hours. Whatever time came between waking and working he practiced covers until he was singing them to himself at work, anything to erase the words in his ears.

He needed to stay up now. Get on a good schedule. He had a couple days to adjust, and he told himself he’d wait until then to go to you. He told himself he’d make himself sleep, dreams or not, and then he’d pick up the guitar and go to you.

The plan was to take you _out_ to eat, and then take you _home_ to eat, if all went well. He’d need to be well rested to pull it off, though. He could count on one hand how many times he’d tried to pull something with him-- and he’d still have fingers left over afterward at that.

This wasn’t a something he was pulling, either. This was _you_. He couldn’t risk being too tired and messing up. He couldn’t risk fucking this up.

So why was it then, that he found himself strapping his acoustic to his back and pulling himself through and into the doorway of your bedroom?

When he oriented himself, leaning against the door frame, he realized he was being assaulted with music. He smiled and looked for you-- to see you dancing around in your underwear while sweeping. You looked like you were having fun, and he certainly had to go to lengths to keep from chuckling at how impassioned you were. While you were dancing, you were also trying to sing, but the erratic moves made your voice bounce everywhere-- and he was having trouble in his attempt to quietly enjoy the performance. It was adorable and reminded him why he was there.

Aww, it could wait.

The song changed-- and Strings immediately recognized it as one of his. You made a joyous noise and danced along, this time much more seductively. Did you forget you were sweeping? You were practically grinding against the broom’s handle and Christ on a crutch, what he’d give to be that broom right now.

He saw what was about to happen well before you did, which is why when you fell over, he’d already crossed the room and grabbed you before you hit the ground. You were still dizzy for a moment, but when you finally realized what was going on, you let out an embarrassed squeak but couldn’t summon any actual words to thank or reprimand him.

He helped you stand up after a tense moment, and waited for you to regain your words. Just standing in your house was comfortable for him, so he didn’t mind how long it took.

“You’re…. here early.” You finally managed.

He shrugged. “Couldn’t stay away.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, and then you remembered you were in your underwear-- and not even something you felt sexy in. You moved for your bedroom. “I-I’m gonna get changed.”

He wanted to remind you he’d seen you in less, but he could wait a little longer to fluster you. Already he could feel the exhaustion beginning to eat him from the inside. It burned, and he felt like collapsing into your bed and breathing your scent and feeling you next to him again.

It had been a long week.

He pulled his guitar around to where he was holding it, and he checked that it was tuned. And again.

And again.

“You okay?” You asked, and when he looked up he let out his breath instead of using it to speak.

Nothing special, you were just in jeans and a tee shirt, but for some reason, it struck him that you were real, that you _existed_. Did he forget that in the haze of seeing you naked most of the time? You were casual, normal.

 _Fuck_ , he was in love.

He grinned and looked down at the guitar. “I’m fine.” He said, and checked one last time. “Uh. Wanted to play you the new song.”

“Oh, cool!” You said. “What’s this one about?”

He strummed and tried to sound casual. “Uh… You.”

He tamped down the urge to keep talking and kept strumming. He was so nervous right now that he couldn’t look up from the guitar. “When the sky cracked open for me and cried, it was the day I could stop trying to hide. I was afraid to change, afraid to grow. Looking back, I see I’d always known.”

He managed to not glance up, though now he wanted to. Surely you recognized the melody now. You’d been the first person he’d played it for, back when it was just the rough idea with jumbled words to keep rhythm. It had been your face that had inspired the words. “I never like to admit when things are wrong. But I’ll never admit when things are right. Can you tell me this is real… ‘Cause I don’t wanna be afraid to feel… anymore.” He closed his eyes and slapped the strings. “Let me stand on your side of the door.”

He kept them closed, his courage deserting him as he went headlong into your chorus. “You make me wonder if today will be okay. I’m sure it will be if you’re there like yesterday. You make me wonder if today will be the same… You make me wonder if I have the strength to try. I wonder if you know how you’ve kept me alive. You make me wonder if I’ll always live this lie? A lie…”

He could do this. _Open your eyes, you idiot!_ He screamed at himself internally, but he only went on into the verse. “He always told me it would get better. He always said to keep going forever. And even after he was dead I tried. I hoped it was enough to say I’d just survive.” Again he slapped it and fought the urge to look at you. “Do you know how you’ve kept me alive?”

He anticipated your expression, or did his best to, and told himself again to just look. _Do it. Hide behind the music, but do it._ He peeked and saw you and you were covering your face. Flushed, eyes wet, smiling. Separately those all made sense. “You make me wonder if today will be okay. I’m sure it will be if you’re there like yesterday. I want to believe that we’ll always be this way.”

He couldn’t look away now, could he? His head was a mess. “You make me wonder what tomorrow has in store. I never thought I’d be excited to see more. You make me want to stand on your side of the door.--” The song went straight into the bridge he’d written that night, half asleep and full of emotion. “--I don’t know what to do. What can I hope to do? What if you see right through me? If I just say the words, but what are the right words? Please just open this door for me.”

The song softened, but his tone didn’t. “You make me wonder what tomorrow has in store. I never thought I’d be excited to see more. You make me want to stand on your side of the door. Never like to admit when things are wrong. But I’ll never admit when things are right. Tell me this can still be real… ‘Cause I don’t wanna live this lie… anymore…”

He let his voice soften, and let the final chord ring. “I don’t wanna live this lie anymore… So let me stand on your side of the door.”

There was a moment of silence before he took the guitar off and tossed it onto the couch. It was barely out of his hands when you tackled him in a hug. He held you and felt himself grin. Why had he been worried?

Still, it wasn’t the last step to his plan. “Hey.” It took a moment to get you to look up at him, and when you did, he leaned down and gave you a sweet kiss that you tried to follow when he pulled back. “I love you.” He said.

“You do?” You stammered, and he saw the priceless look on your face and chuckled.

He was more sure of it than ever. “Yeah. I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to everyone who reassured me last chapter. Thanks, guys, it really means a lot to me. 
> 
> Also, as great as all this fluff has been, know that we're nearing the end of the story unless someone can start giving me ideas on what they should do. I have a few events I'd like to write out with these dorks, but mostly I was thinking to be more general with it.
> 
> IN OTHER WORDS:  
> If you want to see something happen with these characters, tell me in the comments, and if i can fit it in and don't already have it planned, I will work it in somewhere.  
> Things you can ask for: Kinks, fluff situations, angsty things. Go wild guys.


	9. The Dream Never Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Thank all of you for your support over the past few months. Today was wild. I might have a new song in mind, guys. Hopefully, it won't take as long to work out, though, right?
> 
> It gets better. Be there for yourself.
> 
> -Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started stretching on forever, so I'm breaking it into pieces.
> 
> Let's take a peek into Strings' side of the world, huh? Who wants to date the skele?!
> 
> Anyone wonder what happened to Gentem's place after Strings sold it to Muffet?

Payday was the best day. He was thinking about what he wanted to do-- he didn’t have to worry about food; you were insisting on making some local thing for dinner that you couldn’t believe he’d never eaten before. He didn’t have to worry about _anything_ , come to think of it.

He was walking around the town, and then thought of something perfect. Mid-stride, he stopped, and was suddenly in your bedroom. You were still wet from the shower, going through your clean clothes trying to find something to wear and you immediately shrieked and fell over onto your bed, the towel dropping the rest of the way in the movement.

“Sorry.” He managed to say even though he was laughing. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He remembered why he’d come in such a hurry, and he was filled with energy and excitement again. “Get dressed, I’m taking you out somewhere.”

His excitement reached you and you started leafing through the closet again. “Somewhere special? Wait, are we going to your town? It’s like six in the morning there.”

“Closer to seven, now. C’mon, trust me.”

You smiled at him. It was a treat to see him so stoked about something. You couldn’t say no. “Give me a second, I’ll toss something on and we’ll go.”

“God, I can’t wait to show you the freshest damn doughnuts you’ve ever eaten, and we’re gonna get coffee and--”

“Wow, an actual date.” You chuckled as you struggled to pull a shirt over your head. It did sound nice, though, you had to admit.

When you finally got a look at him, you could see he was grinning at the floor. “Yeah, I guess.” He said when he glanced up shyly and noticed you looking.

“Oh my _god_ you’re such a dweeb.” You chuckled. “I love how you’ve fucked me into my bed but going on a date makes you blush like an anxious nerd.”

He laughed. “Yeah, it’s weird, isn’t it? I guess…” He trailed off as he watched you put on something special you’d let him take off you later. When you covered the treat with a pair of jeans, he remembered his thought process, quite sheepishly. “Uh! It’s weird but… I think it’s because it’s so different.”

“What’s different?” You asked as you sat down and tugged on some socks.

“As much as I love making you scream and cum, I kinda like spending time with you with clothes on, too. It’s… comfortable? And I’m not used to that…”

You stared at him with a highly amused and touched expression and he felt the need to glance away again, his own smile hitching. “I mean, I wasn’t lying. I do love you.”

You giggled and pushed past him so you could get to your sneakers. “And you know I love you too. It’s just… different than I’d ever thought it would be. I never imagined this would happen when I started talking to you. I’m glad it did, but it still feels like a dream.”

“One massive wet dream where you fuck a monster.” He grumbled, standing behind you as you bent to tie your shoes. The two of you were just desperate to tease each other today, it seemed. He knew you loved it when he used that tone, and the words certainly leant to the lovely mental image it inspired.

“Mmm, we need to go deeper.” You said, but your attempt at a seductive tone was hindered by how you were bent over.

He laughed. “Let’s watch that dumb movie and revoice all the characters to sound like they’re constipated.”

You almost fell over, snorting at the idea, and he had to hold you upright. Of course, he also managed to use this as an excuse to press his pelvis to your ass. You finally finished with your shoes and straightened up, only for him to move his hands up, slipping under your shirt. “Strings!” You whined, but the laughter crept into your voice. “Don’t take my shirt off, we’re going out, aren't we?”

He growled and pulled your shirt back down. “Damn… fine, but when we get back to my place, I’m going to ravage you until you can’t speak from screaming.”

You shivered and pressed back against him. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He grinned against the crook of your neck. You’d been getting better about making little remarks in rebuttal to his flirting. You still had moments of shyness but you were learning. It was cute, but you knew what you were doing and he was well aware of that as of late. You just had the confidence to do it back now.

“You’re getting too good at teasing, babe.” He said, and kissed the back of your neck.

“Learned from the best. Now let’s go. Doughnuts and coffee sounds _orgasmic_ right now.”

He let out another growl and wrapped his arms around your waist. “This is gonna be disorienting.” His warning was punctuated by the realization that while he’d spoken, everything had changed around you.

“Wow, that’s efficient.” You said. “I mean, I expected some kind of elevator music or… maybe some motion sickness.”

“Trust me, that’s why I stay still.” He muttered. “Takes some getting used to, and… whew.” He let go of your waist and grabbed your hand, tugging you down the street. “Wasn’t as tiring as I thought it would be. Still got all your toes, right?”

You laughed.

“Seriously.” He said, still walking with you.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You said, still unable to quit laughing. You looked around, taking in the city. The buildings rose high, and you noticed ample solar panels everywhere. Everything was so colorful, you noted. Storefronts were brightly painted, and the plants that decorated the exteriors were so vibrant you expected them to talk to you as you passed.

The streets were immaculate, not a pothole in sight. Everything looked so clean. “Holy shit.” You whispered, and he turned to look at you before cracking up.

“I forget that humans have such shitty upkeep.” He said at last.

You couldn’t really refute that. “But… _how_?”

He shrugged. “We just… put more heart into it, I guess.” He chuckled. “We have a pretty good head of research. She works on how to keep everything running smoothly. She’s good at it.”

You looked around again. “Everything… is so alive.”

“Oh, yeah. That too. We just… we’re thankful for the sun, y’know?” He said. “I mean, I don’t remember much from the Underground… aside from the little snatches here and there, I guess, but… I can still remember seeing the sky that first time.” He grinned.

You saw a human walking down the street and he smiled at you as you gawped at everything. Monsters of all shapes and sizes were out and about at this hour, too. You were surprised. How could a town like this be so busy, friendly, bright… _perfect_?

You didn’t realize you’d said that out loud until you heard him sigh and pull you closer. “Our borders are closely policed. Humans don’t want anyone getting out without special permits, and monsters don’t want anyone coming in without a permit. Don’t worry though,” He went on when you began to panic. “You’re with me. I can vouch for you, and they’ll listen.”

“Do you guys… have problems with violence?”

“Rarely. It’s usually caused by a human without a permit. It’s not so much they’re not allowed here, it’s because if they get the permit, they’re less likely to start trouble. As much as they hate it, we provide a lot of services and products you can’t get elsewhere. We had to adapt to survive underground. We found means of power, we found ways to farm the land down there, and we got creative with what we could do with spaces. Creativity was all we had, except for each other.”

He snapped back to himself. You were concerned. It was almost like someone else was talking through him in that moment.

“Well.” He chuckled. “I mean, it’s given us a market.” He pointed across the street to a quaint storefront adorned in a lovely shade of lavender with accents of sparkling gold. Apparently the paint was the special kind that you could write on in chalk, because it was absolutely covered in-- “Here. After coffee, let’s go to the entertainment strip.”

You nodded. The two of you crossed the street and now you could see it. A mural of cogs in chalk that glimmered to give the illusion of the cogs moving. “Is this…?” Over the sign, in shimmering letters, were the words “Let Off Some Steam!”

“Yep.” He said, and there wasn’t a tinge of bitterness. “She takes much better care of it than… than I did.” He opened the door to Gentem’s Airship, and you were struck immediately by the varied faces that turned to look. Humans, monsters, all smiling, and they all raised a clamor welcoming the two of you in with such enthusiasm that you were taken off guard.

A young lady came up to you, fully decked out in steampunk engineer attire. “Welcome to the Airship! Wanna sit down for a game, or are you in a rush?”

Strings grinned at your speechless reaction. “Maybe next time, Alison. We have a full day ahead. Just wanted to show off what Muffet did with the place.”

She visibly deflated, the professional charade gone now that she realized you were with Strings. “Welcome back, by the way, stranger. Next time you better bring your guitar.”

“Muffet didn’t appreciate me standing on the tables.”

“I’m in charge of this location right now. Well, me and Fennel.” Alison nodded to a jovial, squat creature that looked like he could be a gnome, with heavy features and an overall appearance of rough wood. His skin was a rich ochre, his eyes a stark yellow, and like Alison, he was decked out in steampunk-engineer type clothes.

At the gesture, Fennel looked up and let out a shrill screech. He sprinted full force and attacked Strings’ shin with a hug. “OHMIGAWD YOU SORRY SONOFABITCH GIT DOWN HERE SO I CAN THROTTLE YOUR PRETTY FACE!”

You and Alison exchanged glances and she grinned. “Booth?”

 

She stood by the table as you looked over the menu. Finally, you looked up. Alison was staring at Fennel, who was up on Strings’ shoulders, pointing at this and that and yammering.

“I haven’t seen him this happy. Ever.” She said absently. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” You giggled and stared back down at the menu.

After a moment, she continued to talk absently as she watched Strings and Fennel mock-fight. “You know, he’s the one who got me and Fenny the job here. After Muffet took over, she had trouble building the rep back up, and he pointed us two out. We were… some of Gentem’s best customers. We knew all the regulars.” She jolted. “Sorry, I know this is boring, I’ll uh…”

“No, go on. He doesn’t talk about Gentem very often. What was he like?”

Her smile was wistful, and she leaned against the empty side of the booth. “Well, he was tall. Notice how huge it is in here? How tall and _wide_ the doors are? Yeah, He was huge. And you wanna talk about an oversized teddy bear, the guy would just. Pick you up and swing you around. And, shit. When I was going through a rough time with my mom, he invited me over for cards with him and Strings. Was the most fun I’d had in a long time. And he said he was gonna look for a way to get me a living permit in the town.”

“Is it hard to get one?”

“Not really…” She said. “My mom didn’t want me to get one. She didn’t want to even be here, but it was the only place they could treat her… uh… Well, anyway. Thanks to her, I found a true friend. And Strings, too, I _guess_!” She said this loud enough to catch his attention and she laughed. “Even though he’s a salty asshole.”

“What about Fennel?” You asked.

“Oh, him? Fuck, I don’t even know. Pretty sure he was the one who got Gentem into human culture, and Gentem got him into steampunk. Pretty sure they had a little mutual crush going on there. Funny, right? He’s like…. The size of Gentem’s fist.”

You tried to picture Gentem in this little room and giggled. Alison waved to Fennel, and he flipped her off. “Don’t let him fool you, he fuckin loves me.” She muttered.

Fennel jumped down and struck an exaggerated pose. “Oh, _does_ I, now?” Strings ruffled his hair to his irritation, and the gesture made the sound of sticks rubbing against each other. The man was a mass of sensory confusion. His hair looked soft but sounded otherwise-- and his skin had the visual appeal of bark but the way his face squished when he emoted made you realize he was likely as soft as dough.

Fennel stood next to your seat and looked up at you, gesturing at Alison. “Y’see this, friend? Tellin’ strangers my business. Shame on her.” He offered his hand. “Sure y’ve heard by now, but I’m Fenny. Please kick this fellow’s ass for me on the daily, have we a deal?” He kicked his thick legs at Strings to indicate who you would be accosting.

You managed to introduce yourself through tears of laughter. Strings sat down across from you and rattled off a list of things for Alison to go grab. Fennel got called back to whatever the other patrons were doing, and you were left to look around again.

 

It brought back a lot of feelings, being in the Airship again, but seeing you here was like coming home. It felt right. Hell, next he should bring you to the b-- He shook his head. The bar was not a good idea, even if he missed it.

Fennel was singing Moves Like Jagger, you realized and with a start you saw that he was dancing atop a table while the patrons around him began belatedly to keep time with their hands. You were enchanted, clapping along, and Strings watched you, warmth coming back to him.

Alison brought a tray full of the strangest pastries you’d ever seen, steampunk-themed mugs and a small jug of what you figured was creamer. There were also what looked like a stack of to paper to-go bags.

At some point after walking into the Airship, you had become ravenous. Maybe it was the delectable scent of baked goods and the smell of freshly-brewed espresso, but you were suddenly aware just how great this was going to be. “Dig in.” He said, picking up one of the doughnuts and biting into it. He hummed. “They still love me, these are fresh.”

You joyously complied, getting a huge mouthful of doughnut and almost groaning at how tasty it was. It _dissolved_ in your mouth and was still warm, as if it had just come from an oven. Holy shit, this was unlike anything you’d ever eaten.

“Never gets old.” He sighed, and grabbed the creamer. “First time a human eats monster food is always the best thing ever.” You watched in abject horror as he kept pouring the creamer until the proportion was horribly reversed-- why was his coffee turning the color of fresh lilac?

“What the fuck is that?” You pointed at the creamer.

“It’s a little thing I like to add. It tastes different to everyone. I like it in my coffee, but Gentem would drink it as it was. Always had jugs of it in his personal mini fridge. He’d guzzle the stuff while he went over the books.” He remembered his own drink of choice when he went over the books and his smile soured. _You’re past that._ He reminded himself.

“Can I try?”

“Mmm, I dunno, think you can handle it?” He taunted but handed it over to you.

You made full eye contact with him and gave him your best attempt at a challenging but wanting grin. “You’ve seen how much I can handle, haven’t you? This shouldn’t be too hard, considering I’ve had _much_ harder.”

“Wow, um, sounds like Strings getting beaten at his own game.” Alison said, and you realized she was standing at your elbow. You let out a mortified squeak and turned away so no one would see your face.

Strings chuckled and passed you the bottle. “Try it.” He encouraged. “I believe in you.”

Alison sighed. “Oh, good grief, Strings.” She turned to you. “Give him a good kick in the coccyx or something, kay? But, hey, did you guys need anything else? Maybe something you could throw at Fennel so he’ll quit embarrassing me?”

“OI, Y’ EMBARRASS YOURSELF ON THE REG’LAR! I’VE NO HAND IN IT!” He panted from his perch on the table. He turned to one of the patrons, a sizable man, and muttered, “Can ya toss me full force at her? Ma legs’re tired.” The man refused, and Fennel made a show of it, “Aww, c’mon for ol Fenny here. Everyone likes a good _toss_ every now and then!”

There was a shriek of laughter from the table. Alison yelled, “Fennel, people are eating!”

He nodded to you and Strings. “Sorry, forgot not all of us are reg’lars today.”

That explained a bit. Alison leaned in closer to you. Softly, she said, “I swear he’s not usually this rowdy or vulgar, especially this early. He just missed Strings. Glad to see him alive.”

She looked over at Strings and gave him a stern look. “And so am I, so please come back again. Okay? The only thing I have to go on is your official release site, and you rarely update anymore.” She grinned. “Though I will say, I understand that song now.”

“Yeah.” That was all he could manage past his blush as he kept his face stoic as possible.

“What?” You asked.

“It’s obvious he wrote Thawed for you.” Alison said, triumphantly. “God, I’m so happy for you guys. Please just… go get married and have awkward, musically inclined babies.”

You let your head thud against the table.

“Sure thing, Alison, right after you and Fennel jump the broom.” Strings remarked.

“Shut up, you! I was drunk!”

“Oh, Alison, no one believes that.” He said.

“Y’know he’s right. We all know you love me too much.” Fennel said. “C’mon, and--”

She darted off to the kitchen.

“Running joke.” Strings said. “Swear to god she’s not upset. She just doesn’t like to admit it.”

Fennel made his way to the table. “Did she even ask if y’needed anethin' else?”

You said told him everything was fine, and he went to the kitchen to check on her before coming back out with a slightly goofy smile on his face. He was much calmer now than he had been.

You tried the stuff that you’d thought was creamer, but it tasted more like some kind of smoothie. The thought of it in your coffee made you want to retch.

“To me it tastes kinda like dark chocolate. Really complements the bitterness of the coffee.” He responded when you said as much.

“And your personality.” You joked.

He snickered. “And here I thought I’d gone sweet.” Fennel had said as much when he was wriggling on Strings’ shoulders.

The two of you finished eating as many pastries as you could without getting sick and he packed the rest of them up in the paper bags and next thing you knew they were gone. When you asked what happened, he said they would be waiting at home, so neither of you had to pack them around.

“We should come back sometime.” You said as he tugged you out by the hand again.

“Maybe.” He responded. “I think I could handle it every now and then.”

It occurred to you then that maybe there was something he didn’t want to confront yet there. You squeezed his hand. “Uh, I understand it might… be hard to go back, for reasons. Um… but if you want to, I’m here to back you up.”

He chuckled. “Think that’s why I can handle it now.” He pulled your hand up and kissed your fingers. “Thanks.”

It was a very strange thing to do while walking down a busy sidewalk, but it made your chest feel full and warm. You followed him more closely as the two of you reached what he called the Entertainment Strip. Small stores with grand bay windows packed with displays caught your eyes. The immense variety had your head spinning.

Toys of all variation for children of any size caught your eye, and you were captivated by products designed for monsters and humans without arms or difficulty using parts of their bodies. Where humans tended to erase those who weren’t able-bodied, monsters were content to improve the quality of life for everyone equally. It was inspiring. Similar provisions showed up in every store you looked at.

There were multiple stores that sold different kinds of cookware, some endorsed by the one renowned monster celebrity who even now was struggling to integrate to a more diverse audience. Humans were warming up to him, but it was a slow process. His music and shows were hit-and-miss, but his products seemed to do very well.

His versatility was his selling point, it seemed. Not only did he have his own brand of cookware but also beauty products including the most versatile stage makeup the world had seen before. It could cover scars, could be waterproof, and was designed to match your natural skintone, no matter the shade. Even now, walking down the strip, as the businesses gave way to clubs and small bars that blared live music from indie bands after their next gig, MTT was a common prefix on many signs.

Speaking of small bars, you caught Strings’ gaze lingering on a particular one. Simply named “Grillby’s” it was one of the more homey and relaxed-looking places. There was a jazzy feel to it, and a sense of warmth that you could feel even from across the street. He let out a sigh and walked on, tugging you along too.

The two of you kept walking and window shopping, but he’d been increasingly distant. “Can I ask you a favor?” He finally asked.

“Yeah, of course!” You said, relieved that, whatever was bothering him, he would tell you instead of letting it eat him up and ruin his day.

“If you ever catch me drinking again, cut me no slack.” He said.

“Are you afraid you’ll start again?”

He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “Like… when I started drinking heavy it was because I just wanted to get my mind off of everything. I wanted to be happy like I used to be, but it didn’t work anymore. And rather than step back and confront it, I just… kept drinking and wondered why it got worse.” He sighed. “And I feel like… it’s like flipping a coin anymore. I could be happy and dancing on the bar with my shirt around my neck and playing my guitar behind my head… Or… I could sit in the corner silently and then snap and scream at myself until I pass out, even in a crowded place.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to be that person anymore. So if you catch me eyeing booze, ever, just… remind me that I don’t need it to feel good.”

“Of course. I’m here for you.”

“I know. I just… feel bad for having all these flaws and… complications. It’s shitty and you shouldn’t have to deal with it.” He spoke casually, but you could feel the tension in his posture as he stared into one of the display windows. You stared with him and responded.

“Fuck that, you’re more than your past. I love you, baggage and all. I’m not gonna pretend I don’t have flaws and let you elevate me like that. We’ll both get through this if we just work together, and I’m willing to do that.”

He squeezed your hand and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “Thanks.”

You squeezed back and glanced at him. “Love you too.”

~~(To Be Continued!)~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I guess I needed more fluff. I really didn't mean to go this direction-- I thought it would be a quick lead in to some of the suggestions I got in the previous chapter, but we'll get those in the next chapter. Hopefully. I'm having fun with this, so if you like it, let me know you're having fun too!
> 
> Also, tell me about your most memorable date! Terrible, amazing, or otherwise. (mine is detailed below, feel free to skip ^.^)
> 
> (I was at a convention with a very good friend of mine. We were working together and after the convention ended we hit the town. I'd never been able to just explore the city before, as I live in rural western KY, so I was having a lot of fun. We walked around downtown Nashville, ate at a lovely sit-down restaurant, and explored the streets as dusk approached. We got amazing milkshakes and he we walked back to the hotel after it got dark. It was actually the most fun I've ever had on a date, just walking around and exploring with him. I feel like it's less about how much you spend and how you spend your time with the person, ya feel? ^.^)


	10. Please Don't Worry About Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t want to know this about his friend. He didn’t want to know this about himself.
> 
> It was one thing to experience a passing attraction for his friend, another to know that in some previous incarnation he’d enjoyed fucking him. He could feel the hissing flames against his body, could hear the admittedly delicious groans from his friend-- with answering strangled cries coming from the formerly composed and cold Man.
> 
> How long ago had this been? How had this come to be?
> 
> Even worse was the realization the next night when he had another dream where he was talking with his old friend, with the voice of Sans coming unbidden from his own mouth. Talking about how the Man had changed, how he’d thrown them both away, how it was just too much. At some point, Strings realized that his old friend got around-- at least, he had with Sans and “dings”-- and he didn’t know how to feel about that.
> 
> It certainly left a very conflicting feeling about going back to the bar-- and not only for the obvious reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Sara, for the suggestion: Dancing to Jazz or Swing.
> 
> Thanks to Dark_Crystal_Demon for the suggestion: (You know what you did. lmao.)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: More mentions of alcoholism, and also sexy times-- but with bondage and tiny bits of masochism.
> 
> (I will definitely be using all of the suggestions, trust me! I just can't fit them all into a single chapter without some problems lol)
> 
> The title is a reference to Strings' past. I am personally just fine lmao.
> 
> Also, plenty of references in this chapter! if you guys haven't seen mobtale G!Sans, you totally should go look. I couldn't resist.
> 
> I DREW STRINGS, GUYS! Also, I drew something specifically for this chapter. You'll see it soon enough lol.  
> Strings: https://zaiyofalls.tumblr.com/post/156389444181/zaiyofics-hello-guess-who-drew-gsans-for-some

As the two of you kept walking, you were drawn to a store called “ _Fortissimo Furies_ ” which had a full drumset in the window and an advertisement for customizing options for any instrument. Over the door, a banner hung reading “ _It’s Our Forte!_ ”

He caught onto your interest and grinned. He let you lead the way as you made a beeline that way. When you walked in you saw just how they meant “customizing options” and let out a whispered exclamation.

“Like I said, creativity is our market.” Strings said. “Hey, that reminds me, have you ever wanted to learn an instrument?”

“Uh…”

“No reason.” He said. “None at all.”

“Uhhh…” He hitched a browbone at you and waited patiently. “Back up, is that…?” you pointed at a guitar with a very strange and cyber-punk looking attachment on it.

“That!” A voice behind you exclaimed, making you jump. “That is a specialty guitar, designed to produce dubstep music. We got the idea from a human band called [Pinn Panelle](https://youtu.be/oOysh1Y3ohE). Very intricate and expensive hardware, and we took it a step further by introducing magic!” You stared at the creature who produced the noise.

“Good to see you Nica.” Strings said.

She looked like she was made of air, visible but also not, like a moving sculpture made of pure glass.

“Sorry to startle you!” She giggled. “I can’t resist talking about this stuff though!”

“I…” You tried to find words to say.

“So this is the lucky one, eh, Strings?”

Strings introduced you, and Nica was eager to shake your hand. You couldn’t understand why she was so excited-- until she clasped your hand with both of hers and eagerly began to chatter. “Oh my god, it’s always so fun to see this kind of thing!”

“Wha--” You tried to pull away but she pulled you into a hug.

“OH MY GOD I’M SO HAPPY!”

Strings decided belatedly to explain. “Nica can… uh. She sees things about people.” He looked at you sheepishly. “She can see right through anyone.”

“I still resent the truth in that pun, Strings!” She said, but pulled away to look you in the face. “BUT I CAN’T REFUTE IT!” She pinched your face, “God, you’re just too damn cute! I knew you would be!”

“What the hell is going on?” You asked as your cheeks were being pushed together.

“When he came in like a year ago, I told him things would get better, and he didn’t believe me. I didn’t see everything, but that’s because he wasn’t being open enough. But I knew someone would come and…” She sounded close to tears. “And you did! You did.”

“Okay, okay, Nica, you can…” Strings gently tried to pry you away from her.

“I’LL LET GO WHEN I’M READY!” She cried out and gave you a tighter hug.

He actually had the grace to look embarrassed. “Uh…. please don’t look too far into everything, Nica.”

“You and your damn surprises. Fine.” What did that mean? When Nica pulled away, she stage-whispered, “I know you can’t tell by looking, but I’m winking at you.”

You giggled. Strings tried not to smile, but failed. Nica gestured grandly at the selection. “I know exactly what you’re looking for, though.” She said. “So let’s go this way and introduce you to your new friend.”

“My new friend?” You asked, but followed the hard-to-look at blur that represented Nica. Strings didn’t seem surprised by this turn of events, and you decided to trust him.

 

Perfect. It was perfect. The design was asymmetrical and a glazed white with branching veins of black forking off from the pickup. The fretboard looked marbled. You immediately made grabby hands for it, and Strings pulled it down. “Thanks Nica.”

“Personally, it reminds me of him.” Nica told you. “Perhaps that’s why it’s so easy for you to love it, right?”

You hugged it. “How much?”

“I got it.” Strings said. “I intended to get you something special today, anyway.”

“Mm, but Strings, you’re forgetting something!” Nica chimed.

“What am I forgetting?”

“You need new strings, new picks of that thickness you like because the one you have is going to snap next week and you only have thinner ones anymore... and a strap for this one. Also your e string on the acoustic is going to snap if you tighten it anymore. Please avoid that. Also, bring it in to me sometime soon so i can buff out the fingermarks, will you?”

“I’m just an open book now. You must be pleased.” He said. “You already know what I need.” Nica made a triumphant noise and rushed off to grab the things she’d mentioned, leaving you and Strings alone. You quirked your brow at him and he grinned. “What do you want to do next?”

“Will you teach me how to play?” You asked.

“Hell yeah. Thought this would be something fun we could do if we get bored. Not that that seems likely any time soon.”

“You taught yourself, right?”

“Actually, Gentem taught me. Shoulda seen the guy holding a guitar the size of my acoustic like a tiny ukulele. I think Fenny still has pictures of that.”

 

The new guitar found itself in on his loveseat, with a small pile of the other spoils on the coffee table. He came back to stand beside you and let you drag him around. The two of you lost track of time and when at last you realized what time it was back home you groaned. “It’s getting late.”

“Too late to cook, hmm?” He said, looking deep in thought.

“Yeah, I’m getting tired, and you made a promise earlier I’m hoping you’ll keep, y’know.” You put a saucy lilt to your voice and he chuckled.

“Well, if you feel up to it, there’s one other place I haven’t been to in a long time. Good, juicy burgers. Trying to remember if he has anything virgin to drink. Sure he does…” He shrugged. “If not, I can just go home and grab some water or something.”

You started to ask why he couldn’t get water where he was talking about, but decided to just jump at the offer of greasy food. After a long day of working and walking around town like this, you were certainly feeling some grease.

And that’s how you found yourself in front of Grillby’s bar again. Now that you were closer to it, you could smell the promising aroma of deep fried foods and hear the easy tunes. Again, he opened the door for you, and upon entering the bar you noted that very few people were in it at the moment. The lunch rush had vacated about an hour ago, and a fire monster was sweeping up around the booths.

When he and the two people sitting down looked up and saw you and Strings, there was an immediate reaction. The two people in the booth waved eagerly with a cry of “String-bean!”

The fire monster carefully propped the broom up against the nearest available surface and then approached as quickly as he could without losing that sense of elegant dignity he exuded. He didn’t say a word, but suddenly you and Strings were both crushed into a group hug.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Strings muttered. “Didn’t mean to worry you, dude. I just… had to keep my head clear, y'know?”

There was a crackling noise.

“Hey, I know that. I know. I… didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

You felt slightly out of place.

“Yeah, that’d be great, Grillby. But, uh… gonna have to let us go so we can sit down, first.”

Hastily, he released you both and grabbed his broom, storing it out of sight and going behind the counter. His hands turned a bright color and you watched in fascination as you sat down with Strings at the bar.

“He’s sterilizing his hands. Can’t wash them, so he super-heats them to kill anything dangerous.” Strings explained. He introduced the two of you, and Grillby made a raspy noise and offered his hand to shake. You were worried he’d burn you, but being as how Strings didn’t look concerned, you figured it wasn’t a danger. He had a very firm handshake, and his body was more solid than you would have figured. It was hard to figure out what he was saying, but you realized after a bit that he was speaking very slowly so you could understand, and as clearly as he could despite his difficulty in producing human noises.

Oh, he was asking what he could get you. “Uh, I heard you have a good burger.” You said.

He seemed to shine a bit, and nodded to Strings, who nodded back. He walked off to the back room. You turned to Strings. “So?”

“Really nice guy.” He said, but there was something guarded in his tone. He peeked around to see if he was in earshot, and then he shot a look at the other patrons before leaning closer to you. “I uh… have reason to believe that at least one of the guys from my dreams fucked him.”

You stared at him. “Aaaand why would you have that idea?”

He blushed a bit. “Just trust me on this one. I never wrote it down because it was just too awkward. I mean, I can see the appeal… but like… I just…”

“You’re gonna tell me more about this later. You have my attention.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be? I trust you, and even if… part of you was into him, that’s in the past.” You looked at the flame man as he came back, tray in hand. “Also, I can see the appeal too.”

He blinked at you and was startled into laughing.

The two of you ate in companionable silence, but halfway through your burger, you saw him summon a spectral hand at the jukebox. He didn’t put any currency in, but you saw him stabbing the buttons, still not looking up from his burger. Whatever he was doing, he obviously knew exactly what he was looking for.

“You’re not gonna play [What’s New Pussycat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnkrL42R7gk) seven times in a row are you?” You asked.

“‘Course not.” He muttered after his mouth was empty again. “Not here, anyway. Grillby’s not a Tom Jones fan, and he can’t afford to replace the jukebox every time I feel vengeful.”

You giggled and noticed Grillby shook his head and began polishing glasses.

“Anywhere else, of course I would.” He continued. “Nah, I just… haven’t listened to Glen Miller in a while. This is the only place that has him on the track.”

“Wait, what?” You looked at him as the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2aqHGaSxRI) began. “You listen to this?”

“Told you before, I listen to a bit of everything.” He said. “Can’t knock it until you try to dance to it.”

This brought to mind the image of Strings in a suit and a wide-brimmed fedora, gnawing on a cigar. The idea was ridiculous-- he’d never wear that, would he?-- but the idea of him in a suit still managed to excite you.

Grillby crackled and Strings leaned to get a good look at your face. “Damn, you’re right.” He replied to the bartender. You looked at him, and he gave you a fun look. “Look like you’re _burning_ up.”

“Was that a pun?” You asked.

“Only if you want it to be. I’ve been told I shouldn’t crack so many of them. It’s not _hot_ , they say.”

You giggled. “Fuck them. Do what you want.”

He put his burger down and got up. “Alright then.” He said, and offered his hand.

“What?”

“You said do what I want. I want to dance with you.” You stared at him for a second. “C’mon, or I’ll have to play the song again.” He winked and you cracked up.

“Fine.” You got up and let him guide you into how to stand, how to step. You let him lead, absolutely confused, but the light in his eyes diminished your worries. You remembered Alison’s words. _I haven’t seen him this happy. Ever._

The song did replay, and the two of you were dancing in earnest in the small space allotted. You messed up occasionally but the two of you just laughed. When you ran out of breath he finally relented and the two of you sat down.

“Grillbz, can you spare some water?” He asked, motioning to you.

Grillby nodded and put on rubber gloves and went to fetch it.

Strings was still grinning like a dork and you were laughing though you could barely catch your breath. “Hell. You’ve damn near worn me out.” You said when you finally could speak without pausing every other word.

He gave you a filthy look and you lost your breath again. “Not _too_ worn out, I hope.” He said it just loud enough for you to get chills. He didn’t think he’d ever had this much fun with someone before. It left him breathless to see you smile like that, so carefree, trusting his lead.

Honestly, coming back to the bar wasn’t too bad. The normal crowd that might have pressured him to drink wasn’t in until after dark, usually, and Grillby would probably rather kick his ass than give him alcohol after all the trouble he’d been through over it.

Why had he been so worried?

Was it wrong for him to feel proud of himself?

And now that he was here, watching you, winded, panting, he couldn’t help but want to take you further. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to get you home. He wanted to do amazing and terrible things. He wanted to take you to the summit of euphoria that you inspired in him.

Grillby was back with the water, and you thanked him heartily and drank deeply until you’d downed more than half of it.

He leaned closer. "Tell me when you're ready to go." His tone was rough and dark and you discovered you didn't want to keep eating right now.

You turned to ask Grillby for a to-go bag, but he was already offering one. Strings met Grillby’s eyes. “You’ll put it on my tab?”

Grillby nodded, and you packed up the rest of your burger and gulped the rest of your water down. You smiled at him. “It was great! Hopefully I’ll be back sometime.”

Strings nodded. “Maybe we can all hang out sometime.” It made him nervous though, the idea of hanging out with everyone after everything that had happened... Grillby had been the one to organize his intervention. Fennel had been too angry to attend at the time, but Alison had been there. So had Nica and a couple others. GixieGold, for one, though he doubted after his relapse had happened that she’d ever talk to him again. He’d said some terrible things that even now he regretted.

He had done his best, and he knew they were proud of him, kept up with his progress, worried about him… but he’d been too afraid to face them alone. You’d provided the perfect buffer. Not necessarily a distraction, but… he felt safer without the full weight of their scrutiny. You got to see into his world, see the people who had saved him from drinking himself into a useless lump, and they loved you. _That_ … that in and of itself felt amazing.

It was another tiny thing about you that was magical. You’d helped him change when he wouldn’t let anyone else in. You never judged him, no matter how much he told you. That was what was different. He _trusted_ you, and it showed. Everyone could see it, could hear it in his music. He was different now because everything had changed. At some point he’d begun to bloom even through the shit bubbling to the surface of his psyche, and you were nurturing him without coddling him. Somehow he’d lucked out-- even more so, considering the odds of having met you.

It almost felt like he was cheating to be able to see you at all, as if his magic was some secret gift given only to him against all odds. He marveled for a moment at how slim the odds were that he’d ever met you, had the specific power to be able to see you in person, and for everything to just… be so _right_. It scared him a little bit. It was like the universe was rigged to allow this, and he was terrified that, even though he’d lucked out so damn much, that he’d find a way to squander it. He was afraid he’d take you for granted one day, or push you away or hold too tightly.

“I’m ready.” You said, and your smile made him ache. You were too important to him for him to mess this up. He acknowledged as he wrapped you in his arms and brought you into his living room that he’d do anything for you. As you put the bag down on the table and turned to him again he could only pray that you’d never disappear.

He loved the way you kissed him. He loved the taste of you and the way you sighed shakily as his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt. He loved how you had chillbumps all up your arms and your eyes were bright and eager despite your exhaustion. Monster food had helped, and he would put it to good use before the energy wore off.

“What do you think we should do?” He asked.

You grinned. “Remember that thing we talked about the other day?” You hitched an eyebrow. “I mean, if you still have the energy for it…”

He growled and ran his tongue along the curve of your neck, so softly it felt like a whisper. You shivered. “Get on the bed.” He said darkly. You obeyed eagerly. You let him work your jeans off, and let him kiss along your hip bones before he snagged your underwear with his teeth and tugged them down. You laughed and he let go of them to laugh as well, pulling them the rest of the way down and off of you with his hands. “Sorry. Always wanted to try that. Seemed like a good idea.” He admitted.

“You never did it before?”

“It was more of a ‘move them to the side’ kind of thing before.” He said. “But I like to take my time with you.”

You felt warmth crawl across your skin and you smiled. His aura was thick in the room and the chill made your skin tingle. You could feel the warmth of his summoned magic wrapping around your wrists and tug them up above your head together.

Just to be cheeky, you tried to tug away, see if you could, but you were held fast. That managed to excite you even more as you looked back to him. He was watching you approvingly, his hands tracing slightly ticklish patterns in your skin as he watched you wriggle.

He scooped his arms under you and hefted your hips up. You could only watch as his kisses descended and his tongue snaked out to lap at you. You couldn’t help but buck a bit, but he held you fast with his arms and so all you could do was throw your head back and bite your lip to stay quiet.

“F-fuck…” You managed to look back at him. “Went from-- ah!-- zero to a hundred pretty quick, didn’t you?”

He growled against you and you whined, writhing as much as you could. He was looking at you while he did this, his tongue quickly working you into a fit of fury even though he kept his pace agonizingly slow.

You tried to keep your noises suppressed, but then you felt a shift around you in the cold room, and something was pulling you off the bed. He pulled away from you with a final lick and now that he didn’t have to hold your hips up, he let his hands wander the planes of your body.

He was holding you aloft with only his magic, and you could barely move. It was as if gravity were only a suggestion-- one that you had heartily told to fuck itself. You still could barely move.

He was on his knees, eye level with you as you floated in front of him, arms still bound above your head. It should have been uncomfortable, but there was no weight pulling you down. It was just as comfortable as laying in bed.

You were very ready for him, but he wasn’t done taking his time. You had your moments of stubborn pride, and he knew you liked to be robbed of it-- at least by him. You trusted him enough to tell him about this fantasy, and he reveled in it, in the thrill in your eyes as you waited. You knew he would tease you until the breaking point, and you were eager for it. For him.

He sighed contentedly and spun you around. Unable to see what he’d be doing, it added an edge to the anticipation. His fingers traced patterns on your back, and when your body began to relax, he drug his fingertips harshly against your flesh. You arched your back and gasped. He hadn’t done it hard enough to hurt you, just to leave faint dark lines across your back. He leaned in and licked them for good measure, soothing the burn, making you squirm.

“Mmm, is this not enough?” He asked when you whined. “Do you want more?” He asked, his fingers delving into the wetness between your legs and making you moan without restraint. His other hand raked down your back, no harder than the last time, perpendicular to the marks that he’d left previously that were already beginning to fade.

“Harder.” You said, wiggling your hips desperately against his hand.

He chuckled and ran his tongue across the new markings, his fingers still not entering you and only playing around your clit, toying with you. “I think not.”

“Please.” You said, and his grin hitched. “Please!” You said it louder as his fingers taunted at your opening only to draw back. “Please! Strings, please!”

He sunk a single finger into you, slowly, drawing a whimper from you as you tried to grind into the pleasure but your hips were stilled with his magic. “If I do it any harder, it might leave a mark.” He warned, his voice low. “And there’s no guarantee I won’t leave the mark somewhere visible. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You were getting desperate, but still you didn’t speak. "Tell me what you want.” He commanded against your ear. “Or I’ll stop.”

“More!” You cried out, knowing he’d make good on the threat. “I need more.”

“More _what_?”

“Mark me.” You pleaded, and he allowed you to grind against his hand to reward your words.

“You sure about that?” He teased, pressing his chest to your back as you rocked. “Want me to bite you so your coworkers can see what I do to you?”

You were panting the words now. “Markmemarkmemarkme!”

His mouth brushed the crook of your neck. “Mmmm… you’ll have to be a bit clearer.”

You let out a shrill whine, and while you were unprepared he bit down. You clenched around his finger and cried out. His tongue soothed the scrape of his teeth and you waited, neck still exposed, gasping at every hot breath you felt against you.

“You like that, don’t you? Want them to know about the skeleton in your closet, huh?” He kissed your shoulder. “Gonna tell them how loud I make you scream?”

He withdrew his finger and you whined and struggled. “Strings, please!”

The sound of his belt being unclasped made you freeze. You realized it was time for the main event and you wriggled excitedly. He freed his erection and brought it closer to you, his magic raising you a bit more. The tip of his cock slid across your wet opening, and he thrust against you, slicking his shaft in your juices as you tried desperately to hitch your hips just right to catch him.

Without warning, he adjusted his angle and slid into you, aided by your desperate movements. You continued to rock back on him, but he controlled the depth, and he savored dragging the pace out, pushing in a little deeper just to pull out almost entirely and do it again. And at last, when he was fully hilted in you, he paused, loving the feeling of your muscles clutching him.

He put his arms around you, one arm wrapping around your abdomen while his other hand lay over your sternum, holding your back to his chest. His magic shifted to hold you essentially in his lap, and you realized that his magic was capable of bouncing you on his cock. You clenched around him in need. He pulled back to thrust back into you, jolting you and making you cry out.

You could tell by the growl against the nape of your neck that he was done playing around. You were glad, as all the teasing had brought you into a haze where just about any pace above a lethargic level would get you off in no time. This was not lethargic, though. His rough thrusts paired with the pull of his magic led to you begging incoherently for him to make you cum.

“You’re so good.” He groaned against the mark he left on your neck. “So good…” He was close too, you knew, and when his teeth pressed into your neck again, you screamed his name and came hard. He hammered into you once, twice more before finishing with a roar of his own.

He pulled out of you and spun you, letting you lower your arms, and he pulled you into his lap again. He held you as both of you came down. You realized he was saying your name like a prayer against your hair. You pulled back a bit to look at him, resting your forehead against his brow. You gave him a tired smile. “Thank you.” You said.

“Huh?”

“Thank you.” You repeated, unable to put into words just what you were thanking him for. There was too much. The date, the gifts… but also this. You were almost numb from the bliss turning to exhaustion. You had never felt this important to someone, this loved.

He seemed to understand, or so you guessed. He used his wavering magic to help the two of you lay down gently. He still held you to him, and so he used the magic to pull the comforter onto the two of you.

Neither of you dreamed that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S LATE AS FUCK AND I'M TIRED HOPE YOU ENJOYED!  
> I'll start work on the next chapter as soon as I can!
> 
> FUN STORY, the band I referenced in this chapter, Pinn Panelle, was actually managed by a dear friend of mine, and that's how I found them. The video I linked to them, if you wanna see the effect I was talking about, watch the guitar and bass, during the song by Ephixa. THAT is the thing I'm talking about. AND ITS SO FUCKING AWESOME YOU HAVE NO IDEA! APPARENTLY THAT SHIT COST THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS AT THE TIME HOLY HELL!
> 
> Please also check out Pinn Panelle's original music. My three favorites are Face Stealer (the live version), All At Once (the studio version), and Playing With Matches is my ALL TIME FAVORITE! It makes my pulse stammer, please go give it a try friends!
> 
> So tell me about something amazing you've found that it seems no one else really knows about! It can be a band, or local artist or just something really weird that goes on around you that no one else believes happens! (Like meeting the guy from the Everybody Knows Shit FUCK vine.)
> 
> Okay, I'm off to pass tf out. Love you guys!


	11. Drive Me Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who was that he was seeing? Someone taller, full of energy, full of joy. The flip side of Sans' coin. The perpetual smile was as fake as it was convincing, and Strings felt a desire to reach out-- but what could he say to this stranger? But was he a stranger?
> 
> He was too confused anymore. He almost wished for the sex dreams again. Those were easy to understand.
> 
> Strings wasn't used to having Family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, it's been a fun few days, except it hasn't. I'm still without a job, though I'm trying to work on it... But I'm at others' mercy right now.
> 
> But, since stress abounds, I should be pumping out more chapters again. I write when I'm stressed (which is why i got so many chapters out so quickly anyway.
> 
> Well, back to our regularly-scheduled skeleton-fucking. Thank you for your support guys.
> 
> ALSO I DREW ANOTHER THING! As soon as I get it uploaded and fixed up, it'll show up in chapter one! It will definitely be up by time next chapter is uploaded!
> 
> Special thanks to Whisper for the idea this chapter is centered around! ^.^

Strings enjoyed your shower. The water pressure was better than at his house and the water got much hotter. He enjoyed feeling like he was being boiled. This led to him taking longer showers-- and he discovered just how enjoyable the acoustics were.

“You’ve converted me.” He said one day, walking around your room in only a towel. “I’ll help pay the water bill, I’m sorry.”

You just laughed and told him not to worry about it. It was worth it to hear him singing his metaphorical heart out from the other room. You were discovering more and more about him just from what he sang. In addition, he got so passionate with his singing in there that you were tempted to get a lighter to sway back and forth with. You made a note to do that-- he’d get a kick out of it, you just knew it.

One day, though, you heard something odd.

“ _A day and a half is all i need, a day and a half and you’ll see the real me. I’ll blow your mind, just give me time, and all I am can be yours. Three thirds of a chance is all I’d like, give me just that much and hold on tight. I’ll take you high, give me a sign, and take a chance with me_.”

This was new.

You got up and stood closer to the entrance to the bathroom to listen better, but he was just singing that part over again, as if he were trying to solidify it in his mind. At the fifth repetition, though, you chuckled and poked your head into the bathroom. He didn’t notice, so you took it further. You sang along.

He stopped singing, though you continued. He poked his head out of the shower, looked at you, and asked, “Too much?”

“Not at all. Just wanted to join in. Should I not?”

“I’m just kind of shocked. That doesn’t happen much.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sung with someone.

 

It was one of the lazy afternoons you spent together in bed, exploring each other’s bodies and discovering whatever there was you could about yourselves. Breathless and spent, you lay back on the bed afterward, but something itched at your mind.

“Something up?” He asked.

“Um… Am I going to end up pregnant? I mean…” You gestured at him. “I don’t exactly know how it works with monsters…”

He tried to look serious, but you noticed the change in his expression and thus it didn’t surprise you when he pulled you to him, laughing himself into a frenzy. “You know what that reminds me of?” He made his voice gruff and monotonous. “[HOW IS BABBY FORM? HOW IS BABBY FORM](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ll-lia-FEIY)?”

He was unable to produce sound now as he laughed, just whistling breath as he wheezed.

“I still need an answer, you know.” You said somewhat sourly.

He caught his breath eventually, and set to work figuring out how to explain it. “Well…. I mean, it definitely _can_ happen, but it’s not likely to. Highly unlikely unless in specific circumstances.”

“Such as?”

He sighed. “Well, between two monsters, it’s usually related to the soul, since not all monsters are capable of sex stuff, or are not interested. You with me so far?”

“Uhhh? Yeah, so far.”

Between two humans, you have the egg and the sperm. Well, the great thing about monsters is we can literally make whatever genetic material is required for what we need. Magic is kinda… easy to translate, I guess. This might seem weird to you, but, if I wanted to, I could carry a child. It would be incredibly uncomfortable and I’d probably be bedridden the entire time, but I could do it.”

You stared at him. “So… you just… use the same stuff we do?”

“When that’s what is necessary. Bear in mind not all monsters have the same equipment, so to speak. There are dozens of ways it can work, all based on what is most successful for that monster type. Me being a skeleton monster, I’m able to easily comply with human parts because my body already resembles a human body.”

“Vaguely, but I see what you mean.”

“So here’s what’s cool: although it’s happened before and is getting more common, humans and monsters don’t always mix well because it requires a lot of extra work that isn’t always involved in monster relations with each other.” His voice seemed to become more detached as he went on.

“We can make children in a couple different ways. We can fuck and I use my magic in lieu of sperm-- more on that later, though-- or we could skip the middleman and rub our souls together until there’s enough shared energy between them to produce another life form.” He paused. "Like rubbing sticks together for a fire." He said bluntly, drawing a laugh from you.

“The thing about using… the _human_ way, I guess, is it has to be done with a singular mind. It is still going to be bonding genetic code with that of the soul. If the two souls are not in sync, there won’t be a danger. It will simply not be compatible. In other words, we’ve both got to want to have a kid for it to work like that.”

“Uhh…”

“You don’t have to worry.” He said easily.

You stared at him. “Do you want kids?”

He shrugged. “Not anytime soon if ever, honestly. Why? Do you?”

You didn’t know exactly what to say. “I don’t guess I want them right now, if that means anything.”

“It means we’re safe.” He said, nuzzling into your hair. “Now let’s take a nap. My head is killing me.”

 

The latest dream was hell. Strings could see in this one, and he wished he couldn’t. He pored over notes in a small dusty room with stagnant air. There was no sound in this room. Only an intense feeling of regret.

There was a picture on the desk that Strings felt compelled to dart glances at as he continued to scribble odd symbols. He immediately recognized Grillby, Sans, and the Man, though they were crudely drawn, likely by Sans himself.

 _Don’t forget_. It said.

Don’t forget what?

_Don’t forget. It’s your fault, Sans._

It was the only thing he heard in the silence.

Strings felt like he should know what these papers say, but he couldn’t grasp it. He’d never seen this before, and whatever it was…

He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it, his vocals straining as he yelled out and threw things. He was crying, letting his head thud against the counter carelessly. Whatever it was, Sans couldn’t do it.

_the machine is broken._

 

He’d been keeping better records of the dreams. Occasionally, he’d revisit an older one, only with added sensory. It made it very confusing-- especially the sex dreams with Grillby. It didn’t stop there, though. Whereas “dings” buried himself in alcohol, Sans seemed to be constantly looking for something to take out his immense pools of magic on. Sexually, that is.

The amount of times Strings had had dreams of Sans getting a blowjob or being _ridden like a show pony_ was astounding. It seemed like, even though he was addicted to the fleeting pleasure, he didn’t want to work for it. It didn’t mean anything to him. It was just a temporary escape. In time, he also took up drinking, because it made him feel more after the numbness of trying to feel took away the hints of elation even orgasms gave.

That was when Strings started encountering memories of the other skeleton. It made him wonder where this one had gone to. He would have encountered him by now if he existed, right?

Strings was sure he didn’t have a third person in him. It was a relief, but it left the question unanswered. Who was this person who felt like he should know better, this person who Sans cared deeply about and felt so guilty for lying to? Why did that guilt translate so heavily to Strings? Why did he feel so damn alone when he woke up, even though he was waking up next to you? Where was his brother?

_does it matter?_

 

"Hmmm, I’m thinking of getting a tattoo." You said absently over dinner one day. You’d helped clean his house up after a day of wandering the town. You’d come to really enjoy visiting his old friends.

"Of what?"

"Not sure yet." You chuckled. "But I’d feel safer getting it in monster territory."

He looked up from his plate. "Why is that? It’s not a very big or advanced practice here."

"I… understand that. But I know you guys do everything with heart and soul… plus, I’d rather support these local businesses than the sub-par ones back home." You said.

He nodded. "I’d offer to get one too, but..."

"That’s okay. You can let me doodle on you with a sharpie. Lots of colors, too. Ill do your spine as a rainbow and draw lotus blossoms on your sternum. Dicks all in your pelvis, too. In bright green."

He grinned and went back to eating. "I’m okay with this."

 

It was a great feeling to sit on the corner of your bed with your guitar in your lap and Strings sitting behind you. He would peer over your shoulder and correct your finger placements and posture, consistently, gently. He quizzed you on what notes you were playing, and with time the two of you came up with a game. He’d say a note and you’d play it, he’d say a chord, you’d play it.

Playing that game, he’d managed to teach you a couple melodies. You were slow at it, but gaining speed every time. He was immensely proud of you.

It was a great feeling the first time you surprised him by playing one of his songs for him when he came home from work. You stumbled, but you got it pretty well, all things considered. He’d smiled like a dork the whole time.

After that, he began teaching you harder things. He grabbed his guitar and pulled a chair across from you. You missed the feeling of him against your back, but it was also really amazing to share this with him. You knew how personally he took his music-- for him to sit and play with you, teach you, patiently correct you and allow you to learn at your pace… it meant a lot to both of you.

It was yet another side of him you were falling in love with.

 

It was late at night, and work was kicking your ass. Your day shouldn’t have lasted this long, but circumstances out of your control were dictating your night. You had been looking forward to dinner and shitty movies together, or maybe playing together and looking for new music to learn.

That was definitely not going to happen now. After explaining why you’d be home late, and him only offering silence on the other end of the phone, you went on. “Look, I don’t want to, but I gotta go out of town to drop this off. I’m not looking forward to a two-hour drive, especially this late, but…”

“I got it. I’ll entertain myself.” He said, and then after a pause. “Or… perhaps… I could entertain you?”

“Strings, um… I don’t know how you’d manage to get in my car from there without being seen and causing a commotion…”

“No, I’m not gonna get you in trouble. Unless you want me to.”

“Are you… flirting with me?”

“It would be a nice way to stay awake, wouldn’t it?” He ignored the question, his voice dipping lower. You looked around to see if anyone was watching your expression.

Luckily no one was near, so you cradled the phone closer to your face. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I swear to god I will jump your bones so hard tonight, regardless of how tired I am.”

He hummed in agreement. “You’ll be off the clock when you get there, right?”

“Yeah, I just have to drop off the documents and send a message to my boss so he can put in the payroll what time I’m done. I’m lucky I’m even getting paid for this, really.”

Again, he wanted to remind you that there were many monster-run establishments in his town that would love to employ you, but he held back. He’d broach the topic later. Maybe tomorrow, since you’d be off.

“Well, how about this. Video call me when you get off.” The suggestion in his voice made you snort. Just as you expected, he followed the command up with: “So I can _get you off_ to keep you awake on your way home to me.”

It still gave you chill bumps, regardless of how telegraphed the joke was.

He hummed in your ear. “C’mon, let me make your day better.” He paused, and then you heard the underlying worry. “I just don’t want you falling asleep on the road.”

You smiled. “Okay, fine. But just… don’t actually kill me yourself.”

He growled. “Trust me, you’ll get home in one piece and I’ll make it all better.”

 

Despite your best efforts, you were exhausted by time you dropped off the documents at the corporate office. You called him with the phone app and propped your phone up on the dash as you got situated in the car.

He answered the call and got a good look at you. You spoke. “Look, I’m already falling asleep, okay? Even if you just talk to me on the way home, try to keep me engaged or I’ll have to pull over and sleep in the car.”

He shook his head. “You feel that tired, I’ll come get you and drive us back.”

You startled at that, and it made him curious as to why. “No, it’s fine. Let’s just… get on the road. I can’t keep the phone on the dash though. It’ll fall. So… Maybe you could summon a hand to hold it?”

He grinned at you. “Great idea.” He summoned one, and you put the phone in his hand. He panned around to get a feel for his surroundings. “So, another two hours, right? Then I can rip those clothes off you and--”

“I’m skipping the shower tonight and going right to bed.” You said.

“Hmmm what about a nice hot bath and a massage. You’re off tomorrow.”

“So… drown in the bath.”

“I’ll be behind you. You won’t drown.”

“Fine.” You said, blushing a bit. “Fine…”

At first it was just small talk. You talked about work, about how much you disliked that lady at work who wore too much perfume and talked in that uptight nasally voice. She was every stereotype of someone who you'd hate working with, and yet she was even worse because she was real and had seniority over you.

Also, her racism was certainly well-noted, though you didn’t mention it to Strings. You were still intent on keeping him away from the humans in your town. The political climate was continuing to descend into dangerous territory concerning monsters and you knew Strings well enough. He’d get worried about you. He’d pick fights to keep you safe if he had to. And if it got too tough? You knew he’d help you get out. You would prefer to do that without anyone trying to attack either of you.

You’d been wondering how much effort it would be to move all your stuff out. You wondered if he would be up for you staying with him until you could find a place, get a living permit for his town. How long would that take?

You were intimidated and frightened by the idea. Overwhelmed by the amount of effort it would be. You decided next week you’d stop at the local store and ask for boxes though, just to have on hand. You could bring it up eventually. Maybe he’d be up for it-- it would take a few days worth of magic to move it all, and you didn’t want to exhaust him during the week or on his day off. That wouldn’t be fair.

You were brought back to your mind by an inquiry. “Sorry. What?” You asked.

“You looked like you were dozing there. Got something on your mind?”

You yawned. “Fuck, I’m just tired. Thinking of looking for a new job, honestly. This one’s good and all… but…” You should play this off, but you were tired in more ways than one. “Honestly, I’m tired of being around here.”

He hummed in agreement. “I take it you like my town a lot better.”

“Hell yes. Like… do you realize just how weird it is there? It’s essentially a _utopia_! Strings, seriously! You guys take care of each other, everyone works together to keep things running smoothly, the kids are usually well behaved… It’s just…” You trailed off. “There are so many beautiful things there, and…”

“Do you want to be a part of it?” He asked, secretly thrilled.

“I… all my stuff is here.”

“That can be fixed. Moving objects isn’t that bad. Just a few days of work and I can get you out of here. Hell, I’m pretty sure I could get time off for that if we plan it right.”

You smiled a bit before you yawned again.

“Quit doing that.” He said, yawning in response. “Why the fuck do I even yawn?”

Absently you found yourself muttering. “It’s a good thing. Means you have empathy.”

“What?” He laughed.

“Oh.” You snapped out of it. “Some people who don’t have the urge to yawn when others do display an absence of empathy.”

“Huh.”

“Sorry, I spew random shit when I’m tired.”

He chuckled. “It’s kinda cute.”

“Fuck off, I’m not cute.” You said as you smiled at the road before grimacing at the brights coming toward you.

“Hmm, definitely cute.” At this admission, you felt a spectral hand travel over the fabric of your pants. You squirmed a bit.

“Turning a curve, hold up.” You whined.

He let his hand sit there and he watched your fingers flex over the wheel. He didn’t need to be there to know your heart would be kicking at your ribs. Just the sweet promise of his hands on you was all it took anymore to make you hungry. And _hell_ if you weren’t glorious in that state.

“Can’t wait for you to get home.” He teased, his fingers tickling the inside of your thigh. You whined and twitched again, but didn’t ask him to stop. He listened carefully.

“Me either.” You finally admitted. “So do I stop the car and pull off my pants, or…?”

“You know, the best thing about spectral forms…” You felt the sensation of his touch sink through the fabric and felt the chill against your thigh. “They don't apply to your standard rules.”

“You fucking tease.” You breathed as he continued to play at your thighs, edging closer to the apex but always stopping just short.

He chuckled. “Stayin awake, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to fucking murder you when I get home.” You almost groaned and then you whimpered when the cold smoothness of his spectral hand cupped your mound. “You’re going to give me frostbite, Strings!”

“I’ll get you warm later. Cold will help keep you awake.” He said, his fingers tracing but never delving further.

“You’re just going to work me up for the next hour, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be angry. I fully intend to make you cum harder than you’ve ever cum once you’re here.”

“Can it be in bed?” You asked. “Nice, warm, soft bed sounds nice right now. And cuddles.”

“Hmmm that does sound nice.” He said, dipping in to play at your clit now. You squeaked. “So I guess you’ll have to make it through the bath too.”

“How late are you going to keep me up tonight?” You protested, trying to hide just how much effect he had on you. He knew anyway. His fingers traveled lower to gather moisture before returning to your swollen bud for more abuse.

“You’ll be good to sleep as long as you need.” He reminded. “I might call up my boss tomorrow and talk about a few things.”

“Hmm?” You were on a parkway now. At this hour, it was almost deserted and it was dark enough no one passing could see inside unless they tried too hard. It didn’t mean you weren’t stressed over it, but you were flexing your legs in an attempt not to grind against his fingers.

“Maybe not just him. Might talk to Grillbz about witnessing for a permit.”

Thank god for cruise control. You could plant your feet away from the gas pedal. The twitching of your legs almost made you accelerate wildly. Last thing you wanted was to be pulled over like this. You didn’t know if you’d be able to recollect yourself quickly enough.

 _Fuck it_. You said to yourself and increased the speed a bit. It was late at night, you didn’t feel like anyone would catch you-- it wasn’t _that_ much faster!-- and you wanted to get home sooner rather than later.

 

Regardless, that was one of the longest hours you’d ever suffered through. When you got into town, he just got downright petty. “You close?” He asked.

“In what way?” You retorted. He’d been edging you along the entire time.

“How far are you from me right now?”

“Maybe five minutes.” You said.

“Good.” His voice was soothing. “I’ll run the bath then. Where’s that weird shit you put in it?”

“Uh… bubble bath?”

“No, that other weird shit. The melty ball thing that that girl at work sent home with you that time.”

“Oh. A bath bomb.” You tried not to giggle, but then remembered it existed. “Shit that would be pretty nice.”

“Lavender is very calming.” He agreed. “Gentem would spray its scent all over the house when I had trouble sleeping from the nightmares.”

“It’s in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Found it.” He said. “Can you make it home without me for now?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

You drove in silence as he ended the call. His touches had halted, as well, leaving you slightly aggravated and very unfulfilled. When you pulled into your driveway, you looked around to make sure no one was watching you or your door.

How much longer would you be able to keep him a secret? You hated that feeling, of someone you love being a secret for either of your safety. It wasn’t fair, it was disgusting. It was only a matter of time before he found out how fucked everything was there. He didn’t watch the local news, so that made it easier.

Still, if he was serious about you moving, you might need to tell him.

You got to the door in time to hear it unlock. A spectral hand opened it and ushered you inside. From the bathroom, you heard his voice. “Welcome home!” but he didn’t come out yet. You shut the door and locked it, thankful to be inside. Even though no one was watching-- no one that you could see-- you felt safer behind these walls.

You made your way to the bathroom, stripping as you went. “A bath sounds nice, but it’ll just be a soak. I’ll get an honest shower tomorrow.”

He hummed in agreement, the sound reverberating nicely, and you tossed your clothes in the hamper as you came into the bathroom. He looked up at you from the ledge of the tub, already naked as well. He grinned and got up, coming toward you. He kissed you sweetly before settling his forehead against yours and sighing contentedly.

A spectral hand turned the water off, and he led you to the tub. You giggled. “This is going to be an awkward fit.”

“I’m mostly bone. It won’t be that bad.” He said, and the two of you went about settling in the tub. You expected his bones to press unpleasantly into you, but he was surprisingly cozy to nestle against. It was also roomier than you’d expected, as his legs didn’t take up nearly as much room as yours.

It was odd. His bones were thicker, sturdier than a human’s. If somehow you took just his femur and used it as a weapon, no one would guess it was supposed to be a human’s. On top of that, you knew that he wasn’t made of calcium and marrow. He was made of magic. As cheesy as that sounded, he was nothing like a human.

You touched his leg while he massaged your shoulders and back. It was so otherworldly to be able to touch something you knew should be hard and unforgiving and though there was no give like there would be with skin and flesh, it didn’t press painfully into you. You wondered how it felt to be able to manipulate your own body’s physical form like that. Was it scary? Tiring? Difficult?

He pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck and hummed against your skin. You let out a contented noise and leaned back against him. His hands drifted around your waist and kneaded carefully at your sides. He was taking pains not to make you feel ticklish, but it was an odd feeling nonetheless.

“Why are you…?”

“I just like it. You’re really soft and it feels… really nice. You’re fun to cuddle.” He punctuated this by nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “How does it feel for you? Is it weird?”

“Kinda.” You admitted, giggling a bit in the process. “About as weird as me tracing the holes in your palms with my tongue, only less arousing.”

“Leave my sensitive holes out of this.”

There was silence for a beat before the both of you erupted into hysterics. “I’ll remember that, later.” You teased. “If ever I don’t feel up to the challenge, that’s what I’ll say. Leave my sensitive holes out of this, Strings.”

He was wheezing. “That’s fine, I can leave your sensitive holes out of it tonight, too.”

“Nooo, please don’t leave my holes out tonight.” You begged and he hugged you closer, still laughing against your hair.

When at last the excitement subsided and the water temperature continued to drop, he brought towels with his spectral hands and the both of you got out of the tub carefully. By the time you got to the bed, though, you were exhausted.

You were too tired to do much more than kiss him, even though you desperately wanted to ride him into the sunrise. You said as much, and he laughed but agreed maybe it’d be better to wait for the morning, when both of you had the energy to really enjoy it.

It sounded like a good way to wake up and start a better day, and so you found yourself pressed against him, his arms around you. In his sleep, he breathed your name and you felt your heart thump a bit harder.

This was something you wanted to protect. This was something you wouldn’t let yourself forget to cherish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, did I mention there's a plot now? 
> 
> And a sequel?
> 
> Yeah, this story is official now. 
> 
> SO NOW IS THE TIME TO ASK THIS:  
> Have you ever thought of getting a tattoo? Do you have a tattoo? What would you get/did you get?  
> Also, tell me about your best inside jokes you've had with a best friend or lover! (with or without context)


	12. Booty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans was lying on the floor, looking up at his brother as his vision swam back into focus. And out again.
> 
> He couldn't hear his brother's voice, but he knew it should be loud and boisterous. And somehow endearing. He wanted to spare Papyrus of all this, he wanted to so badly.
> 
> He couldn't hear himself talking, either. It was odd that whereas the dreams had started with only auditory input, now they excluded them almost altogether. 
> 
> He had been in the lab again, hadn't he? Working or drinking this time? Both? Oh, such a multi-tasker, today, aren't we, Sans?
> 
> Papyrus picked him up and began carrying him out the door. Sans was vaguely aware they were going to Alphys. Strings didn't understand why they were going there, but Sans did, and he tried to struggle out of Papyrus's grip. Papyrus said something, Sans said something. They were shouting at each other, but not communicating.
> 
> They were in the little dusty lab that Sans drank in. There were still bottles laying around. In his effort to get away, he'd brought Papyrus, too.
> 
> This was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. Piecing together what happened to Sans and Papyrus and Gaster, right? We're working on it!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who gave me ideas for this story! We're moving right along. Be prepared for some things to head south, but I PROMISE THERE IS A HAPPY ENDING so please bear with me.
> 
> Special thanks to lacewing for the Karaoke idea-- and Strings' first song on Karaoke night. I'm still dying, friend.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Be forewarned, though, I couldn't bear to use Fennel's song choice without providing my absolute favorite usage of the song. You'll see what I mean. Uh, hope it doesn't bother any of you guys T.T I mean no harm. Thanks to Natiform for helping me figure out what songs to use! You saved me (because I don't know any popular songs T.T)!
> 
> I do not own or have rights to any of the songs featured in this chapter.

You awoke easily, humming as you stretched in his arms. He had been awake for a few minutes already and now he pulled you closer and kissed your neck. You turned to return the kiss, still slightly fuzzed out in the head from sleep, and remembered last night.

He took it slow, was gentle, and it took a while for the two of you to be warmed up enough to get into the rougher stuff. By time noon came around, though, he had you screaming into a pillow as he took you from behind.

Afterward you lay in bed, stunned in the aftermath. He got up and started cooking. You listened to the sound of him playing his guitar while he threw stuff around, and smiled, finally letting yourself breathe. You got up and grabbed clothes, heading for the shower. Your legs were still shaking a bit, but you could handle it. After _that_ , a shower was definitely at the top of your priority list.

Strings, however, had a vast amount of things he was thinking of. He was energized, happy, planning a day on the town. It was a little late right now, but with a call, he could get Grillby to set him up in the back room, away from the regulars.

Strings had had a plan where you, him, Nica, Fenny, and Alison could play something while waiting for Grillby to run everyone off so he could join. He’d been planning this for a while, but the news of you considering the move made the occasion even sweeter.

So while he was strumming, flipping pancakes, and using spectral hands to pick up after himself as he cooked, wiping down the kitchen to his best ability, he was thinking of what else he could do while he waited for you to get out of the shower and get ready.

It didn’t take long for him to get the pancakes ready, so he set them on the table with the bottle of syrup and he walked around, looking for things to tidy up so you could leave the house worry free. He noticed a stack of mail on the coffee table and got the bright idea to check the mailbox.

He set his guitar down on the couch and went to the bedroom, grabbing a pair of your shorts and pulling them on. He should probably stop walking around naked. Didn’t want to get mistaken for a high school science class prop. He pulled on his tank top as well after a moment’s hesitation.

He only vaguely noticed that your shorts had writing across the ass. He was just going out for a moment, anyway. Whatever it said wouldn’t damage his ego.

He stepped outside of your house with the air of someone completely at ease, stopping to pick up the local paper and put it under his arm. He caught your neighbor staring at his ass as he straightened up and thought to read what it said. Whatever it was, the man looked disgusted.

Strings shrugged the look off and went about getting your mail, humming to himself and going back in. Once inside he managed to lose interest in looking at what the word was. He figured they were just joke shorts anyway. He’d love to see you in them, and then he could read them at his leisure.

He put the new mail on the coffee table with the rest of it and went about making the bed with his spectral hands.

You came out of the bathroom to see him bent over your bed adjusting the sheets, mumbling curses about them, his ass presented spectacularly. The word BOOTY shown very clearly. You cracked up, and he gave up on the sheets to bring you in for breakfast.

 

The back room of the bar was nice and cozy, and when Alison arrived with Fennel in tow-- lugging a karaoke machine almost his size-- the day started to turn up. Alison had a huge booklet of karaoke CDs. When Nica arrived, she was carrying a huge collection of her own. She thanked her foresight many times, and pushed her booklet at you, telling you that she was giving you a significant wink.

There was something very endearing about Nica. You realized today that she was certainly easier to see with clothes on. You asked her why she didn’t always wear clothes, and she said it’s because it’s easier to keep an eye on would-be thieves if they can’t see her at first. That and she said it makes it interesting for the person who watches the security footage to see floating brooms and windows that wash themselves.

You were inclined to agree.

Even aside from that, she was a treat, and you realized with a start that she didn’t look human at all. Her legs were shaped oddly, bending in ways that you’d never seen before, and she had horns. She even let you feel them. They were a foot and a half long and jutted straight up from her brow. She couldn’t wear shoes, but you could tell from the sound her feet made against the floor that her feet were hard. She sounded like she was walking in stilettos.

You looked through the extensive CDs and giggled at the variance. Fennel displayed mastery over all of Alison’s CDs, but was puzzled at the vast collection Nica brought. “I don’t think I sense a theme here.” He said as he leafed through the booklets. “Yea, I’m quite surprised.”

He stopped at one page and pointed to a CD. “That one. Strings, I found y’r theme song!”

You took a look and immediately almost spewed your drink.

“I don’t do karaoke…” He said. “I rarely know the songs on those CDs and I never know them well enough to sing along well.”

“He’s a damned perfectionist now, is he?” Fennel taunted. “And don’t give me that garbage, ya raging dickface. Did karaoke all the time back in the day! It was hilarious!”

“I was also drunk.” He defended.

Alison piped in, to you. “He was a treat, singing [Barbie Girl](https://youtu.be/3vnVzoEz_Zs) at the top of his lungs, pelvic thrusting in almost every direction. He was also standing in a plastic lawn chair and fell off.”

“Oh my fucking god.” You tried to contain yourself.

He groaned in dismal despair. Alison looked at the song Fennel pointed at. “Actually, I can imagine you doing _this_ song very well. Really highlights your personality.”

“Fuck you.” He muttered, but he was laughing.

You handed him one of the booklets. “Find me something to sing.” You challenged him.

“But… what if you don’t know it?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll wing it.” You winked at him. “If it makes you feel any better.”

He grinned. “Actually it kinda does.”

Grillby poked his head into the room and Strings translated for you and Alison. “He said he’s got ice cream and popsicles if anyone wants some.”

Everyone but Nica scrambled toward the offer. “The cold will make it harder on my vocals!” She said.

“Nica, live a little. We’re all here to have fun. So come get some damn ice cream.” Strings said, and then when he got a glance at the selection. “There’s green tea with cookie.”

She shoved Strings out of the way and took the entire tin. “GRILLBY YOU BASTARD!” She cried out, immediately beginning to shovel it into her face.

Everyone laughed and went about grabbing some. You went for a simple popsicle for now, though you were curious what Nica’s ice cream tasted like-- you were also fully aware you’d probably never know. There was so much selection that it was hard to choose just one thing.

“So why does Grillby have frozen goods sitting around?”

“He lives vicariously through us.” Fennel lamented. “Jest kidding! He eats popsicles like a sword-swallower. And then eats the stick too. It’s fucking spectac’lar.”

You snorted, unwrapping your own frozen treat. Strings had one as well, and bit into it like a barbarian before letting out a groan of agony. “Too cold.”

“No shit.” You and Alison said at once and laughed at each other.

You were enjoying the flavor of the treat, trying to keep it from dripping everywhere. At last, you heard Fennel chuckling, louder and louder. “Ya stare any harder and ya might melt it quicker from the intensity.”

You looked at Strings and he snapped out of his trance. You chuckled and looked at Fennel. “Pardon him, he’s just remembering what I can do with my tongue.”

“Shit, if it’s anething like what you’re doing to that poor treat, I can sympathize with him.”

You cracked up and Alison shoved Fennel off his chair. The overall mood was amazing. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this excited. And so, when you looked at Strings and caught him looking at you differently-- softer than before-- you figured what he was about to say before he said it.

“So I might be entertaining a house guest for a while. A very… very long time.”

“Indefinite!” Nica shouted excitedly, tossing her spoon at Strings. “Shit, hand that back, would you?”

“About damn time!” Fennel cried. “Who’r’ye having witness the papers?”

“Well, Grillby would be ideal, I guessed. The permit goes a lot faster if it’s put into motion by someone with further reach, you know?”

“ _Permit_? I meant wedding certificate, but fine.” He grumbled. “I’m signing that fuck’r! Ya won’t take that awey from me!”

You giggled a bit but then realized he wasn’t kidding. You looked at Strings to see his reaction, but he was forcibly gnawing on his popsicle stick and cringing at the frigidity of the ice he’d bitten into mercilessly.

You couldn’t see him being the marriage type, honestly. The thought of him getting married was almost frightening-- but the idea of him in a tuxedo was alluring enough. Then again, you didn’t like the idea of a standard tux on him. It didn’t look _dangerous_ enough, no, but a nice suit would be lovely. God, was that another kink you had now?

You focused on your popsicle again, and felt his eyes on you.

“What song are you singing?” Alison asked you. Before you could tell her, Nica answered for you, though you’d not had one in mind at the time.

You stared at Nica. “I don’t even know that song, really.”

“Hmmm, if I recall, that wasn’t a factor you were concerned about earlier. It fits your pitch nicely-- or this version will. We’ll see. Also, come on I’m just cutting out the middle man for you. It worked well enough in the shop, didn’t it?”

You groaned and Strings pulled you closer. “You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to.”

“I accept the challenge.” You said. Fennel gave a whooping cheer in response.

Alison was looking through Nica’s booklet now. “Holy shit, you have foreign ones, too?!”

“The former captain of the royal guard and the royal scientist frequented my karaoke events. They almost strictly sing Japanese tunes. I had to amass a collection. Sadly, they can’t attend right now. They’re too busy gearing up for some kind of trip. I’m pretty sure they’re going to Japan for some reason or another, at least from what I gleaned.” She said thoughtfully. “They’re nice girls. Very promising prospects for them.” She continued. “I hope everything goes well.”

“Nica, how far can you see?” Alison asked. “I’ve always been really curious. Is it rude to ask?”

“Not at all. But the sad fact is it varies. I don’t choose what details I see, but it invariably happens when i make eye contact with a person. Usually it’s something immediate if it’s someone I don’t know well. I can anticipate attacks against me quite accurately… but the more I am around someone or interact with them, the further I can see.”

“Really?” She asked. “Like… how does it work?”

“It’s really complicated… It just… I don’t know.” She said. “But the downside is I don’t always see a very clear scene, and on some occasions the details are surreal, as if taking place in a dream. Those usually have some strange amount of meaning, but by the time I figure out what it’s about, it’s usually too late. Father called me his Nostradamus for that.”

You looked at her. “What do you see for me?”

She shrugged. “Nothing much that’s clear. I got the sense that your life would be changing course abruptly-- and I assume that’s what the move is. I’m just glad I’ll see more of you.”

“But you know I’ll be here indefinitely?”

“Of course you will.” She said. “Oh, right. I forgot. You don’t know about that yet.”

“What?”

“Ah, when you go about looking into jobs, come to me first. I’ll help you tweak your resume so you can appeal to monster businesses easier. We look for different things.” Nica was good at keeping an even, calm tone when it benefited the situation, making it sound like she was smiling even though she couldn’t manage to force one.

“I’ll take note of that.” You said.

Alison was the first to pick up on the tension in the room. “Hey, guys, let’s break into the CDs now.”

Alison surprised you with a sincere amount of feeling thrown into [a song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-zuviud2HHQ) that did nothing for her voice. Her tone slurred, but she didn’t sound entirely unpleasant. She knew the song beyond a doubt, but you could feel she was singing the wrong pitch. Her voice was not built for a song that high. Still, everyone was in it to have fun. That was what you were doing.

To your surprise, Nica couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Her normal confidence was gone, and Fennel ended up getting up there with her, crying the song out with enough passion for both of them. By the end of [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQEo6OgJQzw), she was having too much fun playing along with him to be nervous. With a bit of confidence, and someone to sing along with, she had more control. Of course, nothing beat Fennel’s cry of “ALLAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIII- ** _vuh_**!”

Fennel had [his song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAmChFTLP4w) next, blew a kiss to Strings and said he’d be doing this with inspiration of his old friend. Fennel ended up taking his shirt off and swinging it around his head while he shook himself, his pitch warbling furiously from the movement. Everyone was rolling, trying so hard to stay composed.

And then you and Strings played rock-paper-scissors to see which of you should go next. He lost, and so he got up there and started singing [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JGq2H0bDfM) chosen for him. He didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. He seemed so unsure and was concentrating on singing along to the scrolling lyrics. He stumbled every other line and muttered “fucking hell” into the microphone a few times.

“C’mon, ya giant ficus!” Fennel cried. “Wing it! Y’can do it!”

“Fuck it!” He yelled, and started just yelling the words in the angriest voice he could muster without cracking up. He did it to the beat almost perfectly, and you were all laughing so hard Alison almost threw up, cradling her stomach.

You got up and took the mic. “I don’t know how I’ll follow that up.”

“Best for last!” Fennel said. “That’s why I’m next!”

You chuckled but your confidence deserted you as [your song](https://youtu.be/CXerF6crDRs) began. You were guessing so hard at this point it wasn’t even funny. You were laughing too hard to be able to sing the song straight. Halfway through, you looked at Nica and said “I will get vengeance.” Her response was to steal Fennel’s lighter and light it, swaying back and forth.

Fennel waited until you sat down after your song to ask his burning question. “Since we’re asking people awkward questions, yeah? Hey, Strings!”

“What’s up, Fenn?” He muttered, leafing through Nica’s booklet again.

“Ya evar use those holes in your hands to jack it?”

You had taken a drink and inhaled an entire half of it, weeping with laughter as you drowned and coughed up the liquid. Alison and Nica handed you tissues and paper towels to help you out.

Everyone waited for you to regain your head-- and you looked Fennel dead in the eyes and said, “Leave our sensitive holes out of this.”

Strings collapsed, then, and you fell into the floor to hold him as he laughed. You were still coughing, too. Fennel looked at Nica. “Anyone know why the fuck they’re having a seizure?”

Alison leaned over to Fennel and said, “Port-a-pupper.” causing Fennel to laugh a full octave higher than his normal voice. When he was able to control his voice again, he cleared his throat.

“I see. Thenk you.” He nodded to Alison.

Nica hummed thoughtfully. “Must be lovely to have a lover.” Alison and Fennel both sputtered, but Nica was having none of it. “Deny it all you want, but you’re safe here.”

Alison and Fennel exchanged glances and refused to look at each other for a while.

“You’ll come around to it.” Nica sighed. “Enjoy it.”

Fennel hitched a brow at Nica. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say y’were getting lonely.”

“It’s no crime to feel lonely. It doesn’t mean I want a relationship.” She said.

Alison nodded. “You’re safe here, too, Nica.”

“I know.” She said. “Thank you.” Not everyone understood that she had no desire for anything more than friendship. Even if she felt a bit left out of all the fun right now, it was a relief to be respected. It was all she could ask for.

Plus, she knew things would be getting better soon enough, though she wasn’t entirely sure how.

Alison pestered Nica into singing a song with her and Fennel, and Nica picked. Just to be an ass, she chose [a song](https://youtu.be/X2V96HXznhU) from one of the foreign CDs, telling them what color text they’d be singing -- she even went out of her way to mention she’d acquired a singable english translation, and so they should mark her as incredibly kind. She said it was so infrequent for three people to sing a song together that she couldn’t resist trying this song out herself. Fennel and Alison looked unsure, but you and Strings cheered.

Grillby came in now, too, and sat next to Strings. Strings turned to him. “Too bad you can’t, right?”

He made a crackling noise.

“Holy shit, really? I will fucking google that song and learn it if you agree to do that. I will fucking die.” He laughed, and turned to you. “He says he went to some of Nica’s karaoke nights and knows a specific song’s dance and it’s hilarious. So I’m gonna look this song up and see if I can butcher it tonight.”

The night was only getting more interesting.

You ended up singing again while Strings continued to study the song, cracking up occasionally. After the disaster of Fennel and Alison trying desperately to keep up with that song and Nica singing loudly over the top of them, everyone welcomed the change of pace you brought with your [next song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEXWRTEbj1I).

When Strings got up to sing after you, Fennel shoved him back down. “I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED TO SING THIS!” He shouted, and traded the CDs out like he would die if he did it slowly like a decent person. When [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6DmHGYy_xk) came on, even Grillby started laughing. Especially when Fennel even produced a mallet-like weapon with his magic and tried to eat it. Strings slow clapped.

Strings finally got his chance, and Grillby was ready. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his suspenders off so they hung from his waist. Strings nodded to Grillby, “Uh, you ready?” Grillby nodded harshly, once. The song began. “[SA MU RAI](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1p25OMmu3OA)!” Strings cried.

Between Strings’ over-the-top attempts at singing this song and Grillby, calm, stoic _Grillby_ , dancing to it in a way that almost made you inhale the other half of your drink, you were absolutely dying. You half wanted to get up and dance too, but were intimidated by how Grillby seemed to know exactly what to do and some of the gestures made you afraid he’d accidentally smack you.

Fennel was not as concerned-- perhaps because of his shortness-- and he clumsily tried to replicate the dance, too. Alison and Nica were too busy dying with you from laughter.

 

That night, Strings grabbed a few of your things from your house and stored them in his closet. He’d have to do some organizing to get everything to fit, he realized. Might be time to look for a bigger place. Both of you slept in his bed that night, and you double checked your alarm to get up for work about a million times before you finally fell asleep.

He hoped you’d be less stressed here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Yay! 
> 
> ALRIGHT REAL TALK GUYS: Thank you so much for enjoying my story. It's a blast so far-- but I need to tell you the news. I got a job and I start tomorrow. I'm going to have significantly less time to write now, but it will also be my escapism. Where I'm going to be working is dominated by guys who will be trying to hit on me-- my roommate works there and they're breathing down her neck and forcibly hugging her and catcalling her. I don't know how long I'll have this job before I murder someone, so! In that event, I will certainly be back and writing more.
> 
> As it stands, though, I'll mostly be writing during my breaks, on my phone or tablet, which means my typing speed will drastically decrease. Weekends will be my best friend (if i'm not doing overtime, which is mandatory) and I should be able to crank out chapters best on those days. 
> 
> TLDR: I am not stopping this story-- it will likely be my lifeline in the coming weeks-- but updates might be slower. Please please bear with me, as I am going to do my best, but please understand that right now, this is my only chance to get out of debt.
> 
> ONTO BRIGHTER TOPICS! What is the most embarrassing thing a friend of yours has done or said in front of your crush or squish?


	13. I Fell Into A Burning Rign of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I want to feel again, let me out. Get me out. Let me out of here. I'm sorry, I should have faced it, I shouldn't have run. I could have made ammends somehow. I could have gone on, struggled to do something right.'
> 
> Sans could feel the pressure of reality warping. He lost his grip on his brother's hand as they both fell in. He shouldn't have let Papyrus help, he should have kept it a secret, he should have done a million things-- but now it was too late.
> 
> The darkness of the void gave way to an audibly painful brightness that scorched every ounce of his being. He couldn't hear himself screaming, but he could hear himself breaking apart.
> 
> 'I'm sorry. I'll make amends. Sans. Sans, you can do this. Don't give up. Don't give up!'
> 
> What was this? It felt like fire, like pulsations of pure agony. It felt like ecstacy, like the culmination of all things that he shouldn't be. He was filled with Determination.
> 
> He could feel himself, barely held together. He was whispering, but his voice was no longer Sans, or that of the Man. "I'll make amends."
> 
> Strings woke up feeling very cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so in the past week I have been sicker than I've been in 2 years, gotten a lip piercing, and discovered that I will be working 12 hr shifts most of this next week, maybe longer. Sure, it'll be nice when I get my paychecks, but it means I'm gonna have even less time to write.
> 
> That being said, the other thing that happened in the past week was I wrote a roughly 40-page story based on Dark_Crystal_Demon's OC. It's sexy, it's funny, it's snarky. Please consider taking a look! (It's called Immovable, Unstoppable)
> 
> The sequel to You Are Untitled has an official name now: Hard Cider/Soft Cider, and depending on how everything goes, I might work on it alongside YAU. We'll see!

In an effort to keep sane, Strings handed over his dream records. He needed to talk to someone, he needed someone to _know_. It was eating him alive.

You were elbow deep in these surprisingly well-written notes one night when he wandered into the kitchen where you were sipping your mostly-cold tea. He sat down in front of you and waited.

When you looked up, you saw he was staring into space, his hands obscuring as much of his face as he could manage.

"I understand now." He said. "It only just.... occurred to me that..." he met your eyes pleadingly. "Back when I still drank. I would party with Opaline. A lot. They… got into some harder stuff. Really depressed and all. I didn't because, you know... Can't really inject shit into bones."

He forced himself to breathe just for the steadying effect it had. "They… liked it when I helped… inject the drugs. And I could never figure out why it… felt like it did, why I knew all the pressure points on a human body… why I knew the best places to use a syringe… I mean, look at me."

You waited patiently for him to continue. "I… I’ve always been… using someone else’s knowledge. He used it to hurt children." He made a noise in his throat and his hands over his face shook. " _To hurt children_."

"Him, not you." You reminded gently, but firmly.

"But it _was_ me! What… what if I’m capable of that still? What if that’s who I am?"

"Did you enjoy injecting Opaline with drugs?"

He stopped. "I don’t know. And that’s what scared me. There was a comfort in it. _Familiarity_. I don’t want that."

You reached out and took one of his hands away from his face. "We can get through this, Strings. I believe in you."

Those words ate at him. They too were familiar. Hauntingly so.

"Please… never fear me." He said.

"No reason to." You answered easily.

Your confidence in his character certainly helped him. He clutched your hand. "Thank you." He wanted to be the person you thought he was. The person you knew he could be. He wanted to believe he could do this-- and, sitting here, no walls up between the two of you, he felt it might be a possibility. You made him feel safe, even as other aspects of himself.

You smiled at him, wondering when you should bring up a professional therapist. You would always be there to help him but you were flying blind. What would you do if it got to a point where neither of you could handle him?

"Anytime." You said instead, and went back to reading, still holding his hand.

Regardless of how disturbing some of the content was, you were stricken, not just with the details Strings wrote down, but the sketches of the beings who formed him. It was a shock, certainly, to see them so detailed-- you hadn’t known Strings could draw-- and even more of a shock for them to feel so real. You could see what parts of them harkened to Strings. You could see the conflict between the two men… and you also… had to admit that you enjoyed reading the sex dreams. It was… fascinating.

You were a bit guilty of wondering what parts of Strings’ sexual nature came from which man.

You put the thoughts aside. It was definitely a bit shameful to ask such things-- but your guilt followed you into your dreams. You could imagine from the reports (that’s what they were, not a journal at all, but _reports_ written with a clinically detached perspective) that “dings” would prefer to bind you. And in these new dreams of yours, that’s what he did.

His touch would always be firm, the tendrils of darkness (or as Strings called it, “Vantablack”) would bind you, cold against your flesh to the point it felt like burning. The tendrils would hold you off the ground, would caress you wherever they could reach-- which was to say _everywhere_ \-- and in the dreams he even knew how to perfectly cradle your throat to cut off your air and leave you gasping and writhing against his hands and tendrils without causing harm.

You didn’t want to admit, even to yourself, just how good those dreams were.

It was a different beast for dreams about Sans. You found him to be vulgar in that way drunks usually are. He was almost insultingly lazy in his endeavors, making you do all the work, but, to be fair, he had plenty for you to work with, so you certainly didn’t resent him all that much for it. His voice got deeper than Strings’, though the darkness that Strings could utter was absent in Sans.

It was only thanks to Strings’ amazing note-taking you knew what they would sound like at all-- even if it was still only guesswork based on what he wrote down.

The further you read into the notes on Sans, the less lazy he became in your dreams. You could see something more to him. He was so hungry for pleasure that he’d ravage you to feel anything at all, almost to the point that you felt like little more than a toy to him-- but after you read the notes about the Grillby dreams, it changed yet again.

Sans was capable of care, of kindness. He was capable of much more than he usually gave. It was an obvious difference in treatment between Grillby and the other monsters Sans “boned."

There was a desperation to him, not only to feel but to forgive himself for giving up on "dings." You wondered if he felt anything for Grillby, or if it was just a shared pain or something of that sort that made them a mess with each other. You wondered if Sans had ever loved.

You wondered if either part of what made Strings, either of these men, would have loved you or even enjoyed your company.

Your fascination, of course, was in no way exclusively sexual. These men were a part of Strings. There were similarities, tiny pieces of their personalities that would rise to the surface every so often. You never would have figured that Strings would have a mind for math and science, but he very much did-- and by the notes, you knew it was a trait both men shared.

Sans was a performer-- he was a comedian. You could understand that perfectly well, but you wondered if his inability to stop himself from laughing like a maniac came from “dings,” since it was unlikely a comedian would lose his shit on stage for the length of his show. Unless Sans had a fantastic laugh, no one would pay to watch him crumble and wheeze on a stage.

“dings” was usually very concise. He hid all his emotions away under a facade of cold, detached wording and upright manners. He loomed-- until his erasure, that is. According to the notes, when Strings recorded personal feelings related to the dreams at all, he spoke of how wary he was with how easy it was to have physical memory of tasks “dings” had done. The pressure points, the syringes… it sickened him.

Strings’ love of music was a mystery. There were so many things that made him feel safe, but in different ways. Lazy, casual tunes felt better in relation to Sans, but then, so did hard rock and even metal-- strangely enough. He attributed his love of classical music and swing to “dings,” but he honestly wasn’t sure. He admitted in the notes that “dings” seemed like he was made of silence and intimidation.

You weren’t as sure.

Regardless of which one of them shaped his love of music, it was easy enough to figure out which one of them was the perfectionist. It was one of the few traits “dings” expressed that Strings wasn’t ashamed of, though it certainly clashed with his affinity for unorganized spaces, born of Sans.

One night, you found yourself rereading the same passage over and over again.

_I feel like I’m a massive juxtaposition of two things that shouldn’t touch. Like oil and water held together by magic until it’s compressed too tightly together and it makes something unnatural and… the word that comes to mind is “gross.” It’s… weird how, especially after dreams, I feel like my body is made of water and oil, moving around like liquid trying to separate. It feels so disgusting. I don’t know why it happens.... It also feels like that when I’m hurt, though. And drunk. I don’t like it. I never want to feel like that again._

That passage led to pages of symbols he’d seen in dreams and his attempts to decipher them. Most of these looked like he’d still been half asleep when he’d scribed them. He wasn’t good at it, though, from what you’d seen, though he figured out that one of the words was “Sans” and so was working out from there. You decided as you turned the pages that you’d come back to it later and help him work it out, leave sticky notes or something as contribution.

The next passage made note of Sans’ brother, from appearance to personality-- and questions that he had based on what his dreams had told him. What had happened to him? Where was he, if he existed at all? Did something happen to him as well? The questions went on and on, and you almost felt dizzy as you read through.

Strings’ mind worked very complexly. And you didn’t know if you could help him. He was capable of organizing his thoughts on paper-- which was amazing! A very good thing!-- but after a nightmare he’d sometimes just shake with rage, fear, or, on one occasion, cry softly where he thought you couldn’t hear. 

You were still looking for nice ways to bring up looking into a therapist. You wanted him to get help from someone who knew monsters, who knew how to help long-term. You were here and you weren’t leaving, but you didn’t want to be a temporary fix-- or worse yet, a crutch for him.

How long would Strings live? What happened if you died one day, even of natural causes, and he couldn’t go on, or relapsed completely? You wanted him to be _better_ , not some sub-par semblance of wellness held together only by your emotional labor and support. As much as you loved him, you couldn’t keep it up forever.

You understood how stressed he was, and you knew you weren’t a cure. There was nothing in the world that could just whisk away his issues. Not only did he have all this identity crisis going on, but he was still suffering over Gentem’s death.

This, too, occasionally put a strain on things. Strings was terrified that one day someone would take you from him. No, he wasn’t jealous, necessarily-- he was afraid you’d be attacked. Hurt. Killed, and once again he’d be powerless to stop it, or too late to make a difference. He was terrified he’d watch the only person he’d ever fully opened up to die.

But, of course, protectiveness isn’t always a good thing. Sure, he didn’t seem to take you for granted, but you were legitimately terrified that if he knew how violent your neighborhood was toward monsters, he would have a panic attack and put you on lockdown.

You wondered if Nica knew about this.

 

It had been a few days since you and Strings had told everyone about your move. He had arranged to have the next four days off, and you had quit your job today. No one had really reacted much, but then again, it seemed people had lost interest in you over the past few days. You didn’t care much, you were on your way out.

The two of you celebrated by going out to a small function with Fennel and Alison, who you realized were humoring the idea of dating each other now. Honestly, you had been more surprised that they hadn’t been dating already.

Monsters of all shapes and sizes swarmed this lovely field where the event was being held. The weather was fair, and this early, everyone was still setting up. Alison leaned over to you. “I heard the queen is supposed to be here too. She and the Royal Guard Captain-- ah, sorry. _Former_ Captain-- are the ones who planned this. It’s a day of celebration!”

“Of what?” You asked.

“Escaping the underground.” Alison answered, and then when she saw your awkward expression as you contemplated why you didn’t already know that, continued. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

A few yards from you, a huge machine erected itself and you gawped at it. “Oh, I forgot to warn you. The rides are all a hundred percent safe-- if they’re monster made. Monster-made attractions are made the same way they make their weapons. It can take up to twenty monsters to form a single ride! Isn’t that so fucking cool?!” Alison was clutching your arm and jumping up and down.

“THINK ABOUT THAT! I mean, what would _you_ do if you could make _literally anything_ just… appear?!” She didn’t wait for a response before tugging you in the direction of the ride, which you saw now was one of those high-speed swing rides. The monster running it was a cute little guy with a magic cap.

“Madjick!” Alison greeted, and you stared at her. Did she literally know _everyone_?

He gestured wildly at her, and she introduced the two of you. He seemed to be talking in other languages, and so you just pretended to understand what he said to be polite. As Alison pulled you to the ride, she told you that he liked to pretend he only spoke in magic words, but she’d seen him stuff seventeen pastries into his mouth and recite the entire Bee Movie script as he did.

Strings and Fennel watched from the ground after realizing the two of you were gone. Rides were still going up-- and then the humans began to bring in their contributions. They were few, but Strings couldn’t help but be amused by the balls they had to include a haunted house trailer. He was assured by the owner it was meant in good spirits, and the first monsters who went in came out laughing so hard-- The owner’s shocked expression made it worth it for Strings.

Among the other contributions was the “Infamous” (according to the owners) RIGN OF FIRE. Strings was too busy trying not to laugh-- and so it fell upon Fennel to point out to the owners that their ride’s paint job was incorrect. Sheepishly, one of the owners admitted that he was well aware of that.

Fennel put the man at ease by telling him one of the monster settlements had a library sign of a similar caliber, and the man looked a bit relieved. He said he’d done it himself but he’d been very tired and the paint fumes were intense and he was dyslexic. Strings patted the man on the back and told him he’d be okay.

It was about that time that you and Alison approached. Alison pointed at the ride and shook her head. “Not on my life or yours would I get on there.” It was quiet enough that only you and Fennel heard, and you were shocked that Fennel even more quietly agreed.

You looked around again and saw that in the past five minutes, the entire field had been set up. There was even a huge stage in the center, and a few monsters working on the mic while a few more set up metal chairs. There was a buffet table being set up-- and Alison was quick to point out it was being run by Muffet, who owned the Airship. Grillby would be keeping open bar later tonight.

You turned to Strings. “Is this going to be an all day thing for us? By the end of this, I’ll have been up for about twenty-four hours, you know… That’s nothing new for you, but…”

“Remember that monster food converts directly to energy.” He winked at you. “You start feeling tired, I’ll get you something to wrap your mouth around.”

You tried to ignore the innuendo and muttered. “Leave my sensitive holes out of this.”

He chuckled and pulled you closer. His mouth grazed the curve of your ear. “I know what your sensitive holes like.”

You shivered and tilted your head up to kiss him. Fennel and Alison, unseen behind you, glanced furtively at each other and awkwardly moved away from each other. Fennel cleared his throat to get Strings’ attention, and you realized you’d been making out in public and had an appropriate reaction.

You looked around, suddenly terrified that you had done something dangerous. No one was casting disgusted looks at you. No one looked outraged.

You made yourself relax, and let Alison walk you in the direction of food. “Hey, are you okay?” She asked. “You looked like you were going to piss yourself just now.”

You decided it was safe to tell her, as long as she didn’t tell anyone. After getting her to swear to secrecy, you told her about your hometown, how volatile it was getting, how you were afraid Strings would be discovered eventually.

“Yeah, you need to get out of there, as soon as possible. And if it’s needed, I’ll vouch for you. Hell, if for some reason you need a place to stay, come sleep over for a few nights. My couch is fucking cozy.”

You smiled. “Thanks. I hope that won’t ever be necessary…”

“Me too.” She agreed. “But… I know Strings isn’t always the most… emotive person. Or at least, he didn’t use to be. I don’t know how he is behind closed doors, but… If he ever gets to that point where he just feels like a corpse again, you’re welcome with me until he snaps out of it, okay?”

You wanted to ask more questions, understand just what she was talking about, but you were lost in the haze of things going on. There wasn’t a chance over the next hour, with the four of you trying ride after ride, snack after snack.

There was a “Spooky” ride set up-- human-run, of course-- which had “monsters” pop out at you during it. Just like the haunted trailer, monsters came out of it laughing hysterically. When you and Strings approached the guy in charge of it, he looked at Strings and commented, “That… makes sense now.”

When you went on the ride, a skeleton popped out, and it appeared someone had taken sharpie to his face to imitate Strings’ scars and given him a pink toy ukelele which had obviously been won at one of the prize booths.

“I don’t know if I’m offended or flattered.” He chuckled to you.

Fennel was dying from lack of oxygen next to him. “OH MAI FUCKIN _GAAAWD_ IT’S YOUR LONG-LOST TWIN!”

You noticed Strings twitch at that, but he forced a laugh, and you reached back to hold his hand. The rest of the ride went much the same. The monsters that popped out looked like angry variants of monsters you saw around town all the time.

One of the monsters riding with you that you didn’t know yelled out, “Sweet Hell, someone please clothe these poor guys!” and you couldn’t help but wheeze into your hand at the horror of angry naked monsters attacking your cart.

You managed to convince Fennel to ride a monster-run rollercoaster with Alison, and while you waited, Strings drug you off to a sweet-looking rabbit monster watching over a group of kids. The kids were playing ring toss, but their rings had all gotten lost from throwing them out of control. Strings was talking with the lady, and then left you to stand and talk with her while Strings played around with the kids.

The woman, who you learned went by “Mimi,” was incredibly soft-spoken. As the two of you watched Strings summon his spectral hands and use them for ring toss, showing the kids how to throw without hitting passersby, she remarked how he was doing much better than when she’d last seen him. Her kids had always loved him, thought he was hilarious, and she’d thought he was a terrible influence.

Lately, though, she’d been hearing around how much he’d changed. It was certainly a relief. Though he’d never been ill against her kids or her, she knew he had lived a wild lifestyle and was struggling. She hadn’t known Gentem well, and she guiltily admitted she’d doubted Strings’ words that Gentem had been killed by humans.

She was quick to assure you that her doubts were assuaged, however, so you didn’t get too upset. “He works for a friend of mine. Does hard, manual labor. He only uses magic when he has to, and it earns him a lot of respect down there. He’s even been put in charge of new hires lately, or so I hear.”

You stared at her. She stared back. “What, does he not talk about work?” She laughed. “Ah, well, it’s construction. Nothing glamorous, you know. He went through a slew of jobs before he got clean again, and I warned BonBon to not hire him…. I’m glad I was wrong.” She sighed. “And I’m glad you’re keeping him clean.”

“I’m not keeping him clean. _He’s_ keeping him clean.” You said, trying to rein in your irritation.

Mimi squeaked. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to sound so critical.” She paused and looked back to Strings, giving the tiny bunny boy a high five for throwing the hand well. “I don’t really have the best view into a stranger’s life. It’s just nice to see him shaping up.”

You didn’t bother responding. Sure, Strings hadn’t made the best choices in the past, but his struggle was his. He’d become this new person, and he was still climbing. You hadn’t done that-- _he_ had. To attribute that success to you was to erase his own strength.

Strings motioned to you, and you gladly hurried after him. He gestured to one of the unused posts. “Wanna play a bit while we wait for Fennel and Alison?”

You shrugged and looked around to see that Mimi wasn’t in eavesdropping distance. For some reason, you figured she would stoop to that level. At least she was mostly honest, you thought bitterly, though she had balls to tell you how little she thought of him.

“So what do you expect me to throw?” You asked him at last when he didn’t summon more hands for you.

He grinned at you. “Could always throw your underwear. It has holes in it, right?”

“What?!” You looked to make sure the kids weren't close enough to hear him, knowing he was about to say something bad. You could feel it.

“Y’know, holes. Like what you put your legs through.”

“Oh my _god_ , Strings!”

“C’mon, I’m just messing around. Or should I leave your sensitive holes out of this?” You looked at him and then away.

“I’m not wearing any.” You said quietly, hoping no one heard.

“Hah, neither am I. Great, right?”

“Uh, I’m serious.”

“So am I. You know I don’t wear that stuff. Not really necessary.” You looked at him. He looked at you. “You’re really going commando today, aren’t you? Holy shit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, you prick.”

“God, that gives me ideas.”

“Please don’t.”

“I can wait until later.”

“Strings.”

“Mmmmhm?” He purred. “Still want me to conjure hands? I got a good idea of how to use them today.”

“For god’s sake, Strings, there are kids here.”

“I know a secluded place out here.”

“Or you could take me home, you ass.”

“Where’s the danger in that one?”

You growled. Behind you, you heard Fennel laugh. “Want me to dropkick his shins?”

“Please do.” You pressed at your temples but gave Strings a playful smile.

 

Strings almost destroyed the Gravitron by fucking with gravity. Really managed to freak out the humans on the ride. Fennel got lost in the house of mirrors-- or so you all believed, until he revealed he’d been at the exit for roughly twelve minutes just fucking with everyone.

Bumper cars had been a mistake. You and Alison got into a rivalry that had each of your dates clutching at the cars and sweating as you rammed into each other with an aggressiveness even Alison rarely attained. When the time ended the first time, Stings and Fennel stumbled to their own cars, and returned the favor, the four of you slamming into each other mercilessly. Strings damn near gave you whiplash.

Afterward, you told Strings he might want to be careful slamming you if you’re not ready, and he got close and muttered softly to you. “There are bumper boats if you want to get wet, too.” and you bit your tongue.

Fennel chuckled. “They come with squirt guns!”

Alison shoved him but she was laughing too hard to give it much strength. The look he gave her was adorable.

The ferris wheel was a gimme, though at first you didn’t understand why Strings and Fennel were so keen to get on it. The realization came when your cart was at the zenith of its rise. He let out a sigh, deeply inhaling the air.

“This wasn’t possible underground, was it?” You asked.

“Nah. We could build things high enough, sure, but what would we be seeing that we hadn’t seen already?” He looked out at the spread, at the horizon, at the sky, and took another deep breath. "We'd never thought of it, honestly."

“I’m surprised you’re not scared of heights.”

“Why would I be? I’m up on scaffolding at work all the time.” He paused. “I know I don’t talk much about work, but…” He let out the breath with an easiness. “I took the job because I needed something stable to base my life around for a while. And, when the music picked up again, when I started writing again, I considered quitting.

“Heh, but by that time, I was next up to get a raise. Imagine that, right? I had told the boss something could be improved upon, and he was really impressed with my suggestions. He had me start going over some of the blueprints and I… I don’t know. I have a knack for the math or something. Guess it’s… my predecessors, or whatever you want to call them.

“But now, here I am, in line for a promotion. I’ll be training new hires on top of everything else. It’s kinda… weird to feel depended on like that. I don’t think I’ve ever had a job myself before that where I was indispensable, you know? I mean, the guys, sure. They had their jobs. I didn’t though. I didn’t have a niche.”

“Why don’t you like talking about work?” You asked.

“It just… there’s not much to say. I put in my labor and I come home and do what makes me happy.” He squeezed your hand. “Or _who_ makes me happy. My job is just what feeds me. Sure, it’s important, but I’m kind of in a haze there, you know? Mind fuzz. Just... “ he shrugged. “I get home and barely remember if anything happened at all.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the skyline.

“I don’t remember how long I was Underground before the barrier was broken. Everything was… kind of a haze, you know? And I know… I’m one of the monsters who took the surface for granted so soon after reaching it… but I think I appreciate it fully now.”

You looked at him and found him staring at you. He kissed you and then smiled gently at you when he drew back. “It’s just moments like these I… you remind me it’s been worth it.”

 

There was a commotion. Screams. The four of you found your way to the attraction and the crowd formed around it. The Rign of Fire had frozen with the carts at the top of the circle, everyone hanging upside down, held into their seats only by the bar on their thighs.

The men who owned it were in hysterics, too, trying to figure out how to fix this.

“Wait here.” Strings said, and disappeared. He reappeared at the top of the ride, over the track, over the carts. He told the owners of the ride to get ready, and called for strong monsters in the crowd to get on the platform.

He grabbed onto the railing and swung down. He reached to the two humans in the first row of seats and told them to grab onto his arm that wasn’t holding onto the railing. Confused but willing to try anything, they eagerly obliged-- and immediately found themselves on safe ground. The rapid change from hanging upside down to being on the ground made them almost pass out, and a strong monster picked them up and carried them off to a provisioner of monster food or healing magic.

Strings proceeded to do this for everyone on the ride, sometimes grabbing four people at a time. The monsters were quick to trust him, but the humans sometimes hesitated, despite seeing he was a much safer option than the Rign of Fire.

When at last he got everyone down, the owners finally managed to figure out how to fix the ride. You doubted anyone would be getting on it again today, anyway.

Strings wasn’t even tired when the commotion settled down. “Are you used to hanging off rails with one hand?” You asked after the storm of people intent on thanking him departed.

“Not really. I just didn’t want to take a chance and use spectral hands, plus, all those humans. They would have freaked out if hands started grabbing them out of nowhere and pulled them out of their seats. Might not have been able to keep them from squirming out and to their death, y’know?” He sighed. “At least at work, I’ve discovered to have a hands-on approach to humans.”

Fennel smacked Strings on the ass. “Shoulda seen when you were up there. Face like a tomato.”

He hitched a brow at you. “Oh really?”

Alison chimed in. “Very obviously impressed.”

He laughed but rubbed the back of his neck, the scratch of the vertebrae against his fingers a familiar, soothing sound.

The four of you passed a booth containing a guy who was incredibly manic, provoking whoever passed to throw balls at him. He was in a dunk tank, you saw, and there was a glamorous-looking robot monster standing in front of it, wearing a fairly-obvious disguise.

“Holy shiiiit.” Alison breathed. “Do you know who that is?”

“Uh, I think I bought a burger from that guy last week.” You pointed at the guy in the tank.

“ _No, not him!_ ” Alison pointed at the robot. “That’s _the_ Mettaton.”

You stared for a moment. “Then…… why isn’t he being swamped with attention?”

She shrugged. “Maybe monsters are just so polite or something that they don’t want him to feel like his disguise is obvious? Or maybe they think the Mettaton-resemblance is a costume? Hell, I don’t know. Maybe they’re just so used to seeing him by now. I’m honestly lost on that too.”

“Hurry, let’s go past before--”

“AY I WILL DUNK YOUR ASS, Y’SORRY FUCK!” Fennel cried, and for some reason, you felt perhaps Fennel wasn’t doing this out of aggravation from the cat’s taunts. He rushed forward and missed the target entirely. He turned to Strings and gave puppy dog eyes.

“No, Fennel.” Strings said.

Mettaton purred. “C’mon, handsome. I’m sure you have a strong arm.” Mettaton pointed at Fennel. “You could even toss your friend, since he seems so set on it.”

Fennel appeared under Strings’ elbow indignantly. “I’d rather have anal beads ripped out my ass like a beyblade.” He said flatly, maintaining merciless eye contact with the robot.

Mettaton stared at him for a moment before putting his head in his hands. It seemed Mettaton had recognized him? “Fair point. My apologies.”

Fennel roared with laughter. “Why are y’here, of all places?”

“Alphys.” He answered impassionately. “She and Undyne are here and perhaps I wanted to try something new for the day.”

“Torturing your employees is nothing new for you.” Fennel grumbled.

Alison exchanged a confused glance with you. Strings pulled Fennel away with him and the four of you walked off.

“He’s not…. _that_ bad, I guess. Agh, I can’t say it with a straight face. He’s a total diva! And if he has a feeling you are interested in his business, in becoming something, he slams you back down and makes you know _your place in his world_.”

“Jesus Christ.” Alison whispered.

“He’d sure love to think he is, I tell ya.” Fennel spat on the ground.

“Glad you’re working with me now.” She replied, her hand on his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment and then went soft, a goofy grin on his face, though from the angle, Alison didn’t see it.

The four of you headed back to Alison’s place for a bit, and she even made dinner. Fennel seemed surprised. He looked to you. “I took over the studio above the Airship. She lived there before I did, and she kept it clean. I don’t know what to do in such a…” He looked around. “I have the feeling she’d shove me into a cupboard labeled with my name!”

She hitched a brow at him and checked one of her cabinets. “Think there’s just enough room for you in here.”

Fennel stage whispered to you, and you were shocked to see that he might even be blushing! “But she can _cook_ now too?! I might sign up to live in the cupboard.”

Alison blushed to her roots and labored over the stove to avoid being looked at. Strings offered to help, but she told him she had it covered, and so the three of you sat in the other room, talking about nothing at all in particular until dinner was ready.

During dinner, you had a thought. “Hey, Strings? That song you were singing recently. The one you’ve been working on a bit.”

“Game of Chance? Or was it a cover?”

“Game of Chance. Was…. Did you start writing that when you got your promotion?”

He smiled. “Yeah. It was between me and a human, and I thought for sure, given my background, I’d never get it. But… I’d only gotten the first two bits written before he got back to me. Heh… It’s really weird.”

Fennel chuckled. “Y’know you’re not your past, dontcha? I don’t know Bonny very well--” He turned to you and Alison, “That’s his boss, by the way-- I don’t know them very well, but we all know that everything changes, and sometimes the first step is to take a chance.”

Strings nodded. “I know, Fennel.”

“Hey, think about it, Stringy.” He taunted. “We’re friends, even after all that shit that happened.”

Strings nodded again. He grinned. “Thanks Fennel. Didn’t know my mental state was eating you up inside.”

“Don’t get any ideas.” He teased back.

“It’s too late.” You said. “You’re gonna steal him away from me, aren’t you, Fenny?”

Alison gasped and turned to you. “That means the two of us will have to elope, sprinting into the sunset with middle fingers raised high!”

Fennel pounded the table. “I’ll hide in your suitcase and crash the honeymoon.”

“I’ll be the person who marries you.” Strings said. “I’ll even dress up like Elvis.”

It was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is definitely nothing bad going to happen soon. Definitely not going to have to remind you that this story will indeed have a happy ending. I'm definitely not going to kill anyone in the next chapter.
> 
> Definitely.


	14. I'm Here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *I've been working on a new song for a while now, and got some inspiration after the Fair today. With any luck, Game of Chance will be up for your consumption soon!
> 
> ~Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEWARE: THIS CHAPTER WILL GO INTO SOME REALLY DARK THEMES, namely BRUTAL VIOLENCE.
> 
> No one will die, I promise, but it will definitely have a lasting effect.
> 
> This will lead into more Comforting Fluff, and GUESS WHAT A NEW OPPORTUNITY TO VOTE IN THE CHAPTERS!
> 
> Also, Undyne and Alphys get their cameo in this chapter!

“I just realized I don’t have to work tomorrow.” You said, standing in his bedroom, bending over it to tuck in the sheets. He went to help you. “Neither do you. You know what that means?”

“It means let’s grab the essentials and come back here to fuck most of the night away.” He said.

“Holy shit, yes.” You laughed. “Please make it hard for me to walk tomorrow. Then you can do all the moving.”

He chuckled and tugged you up against him as you stood. “I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself from doing so.” He said. “Hmm, but if you’re going to go job hunting, I might need to be careful.” His mouth against your neck made you gasp sharply. “Don’t want everyone in town to see that side of you until after you have the job, right?”

You gasped as he nipped you. “Says the-- _ah!_ Strings, ssstop-- says the person who said he’d finger me at the fair.”

He pulled away at last. “Fuck, you’re distracting me again.”

“Let’s make this quick, then.” You said. “So we can take our time.”

The two of you separated, got your breathing mostly together, and he tugged you with him into--

At first, you weren’t sure what you were looking at. This place wasn’t familiar, only shattered pieces of what you’d loved and known remained in your bedroom. There was a commotion coming from the living room, and at the sound of your gasp, it went silent.

Strings pressed you behind him as three men filed into the room.

You didn’t exactly hear what they said. You were too terrified to really understand what was going on-- and so when they got close enough to pull Strings away from you, all you could do was scream at them and try to pull him back.

You lost your grip on him. The men were ignoring you. For now.

Strings resolved to hold their attention as long as he could until you could just get out. He couldn’t attack. If they were here, they knew they were dealing with a monster.

He would not let them touch you.

He should have pulled you right back into his home. Why hadn’t he? Why had he just stood there in shock? Why hadn’t he put the pieces together sooner?

You started yelling when they began beating him. They didn’t have any weapons, but their boots were steel-toed.

It hurt. It was terrible, and he kept expecting to fly apart, to turn to dust. He kept waiting through the pain, through the screams that he eventually couldn’t contain anymore-- he kept waiting for it to be over, for him to be at his limit.

What was his limit?

Shouts. He couldn’t make out the words at first. There was the sound of a steel baseball bat hitting one of the men in the shoulders, and he stumbled. You readied to swing again. “STRINGS!” You cried out, but wouldn’t let yourself look. You were terrified there would be little left to look at.

The men were going to rush you, Strings realized, his pain fading under the numbing reality that you were in danger. He reached out but he wasn’t solid. His form extended as if he were made of slime. He wrapped himself around feet, the men going still as their shoes became instantly frigid and sodden. And sticky. And _heavy_.

Suddenly they were trying to escape, but it only led to them falling onto the floor. He crawled over them like a tide of nothingness. He could feel himself twisting and writhing, the fabric of his being trying so hard to exist and yet not to. He had no natural form. He had no real tether to physicality.

There was a deafening roar of what sounded like white noise, and he did his best to shut it out as he stared into the eyes of these men, his breathing like a drowned creature, thick but cold enough against their faces to make the men shiver.

“Strings.” You were near now. “Strings!” Barely audible over the white noise, but he turned his head. At the break in eye contact, the men began to cry. You held him, even though it must have been agony to touch him, much less look at him. The white noise began to subside.

“Strings.” You were gathering him up. “We have to go. We have to get you help!”

He stared at you, unable to process it for a moment, and then he felt the oil and water of himself begin to merge together again. It was painful. Almost as painful as being beaten into a pulpy liquid had…

When he was solid enough to control his movements, he released the men and held onto you.

He wasn’t sure how stable his magic would be, but he had to get you to safety. He had to try.

There was silence in his house. You kept one of your arms around him and fumbled for your phone with the other. Your hands were shaking, he noted. “Fennel.” There was garbled, sleepy noises on the other line. “I know it’s late. I need help. Bring a doctor, or… the closest thing to one. Now!”

He must have agreed. You tossed the phone onto the bed behind you and pulled him closer to you. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” You gasped, mouth pressed to his head. He was holding you around your waist, face pressed into your torso, and he was sobbing from the pain as it began to fade.

Until it had begun to subside, he hadn’t realized just how bad it was.

“I thought they had killed you.” You whispered. “I would have killed them all if I could.”

He wanted to talk, to say he was okay, but he couldn’t. He could only hold tighter to you, now that he had his body back the way it was.

What was wrong with him? What had happened?

You started rambling. “You were just. In pieces, but you weren’t… solid? You were moving without moving. It was like… your surface was swimming.” You held him closer still and found yourself sobbing too. It had been so hard to look at him, unnerving and frightening.

He had been less substance than idea, looming over those men. He had been speaking, too. You couldn’t understand what he said, but it sounded like garbled audio.

Finally he found his voice, hoarse from screaming. He screamed into your skin now.

He realized he was still the Man. That he’d always been him, and that no matter what he does, he will always be that creature from his nightmares.

Fennel brought three monsters with him, one of whom was Grillby. Grillby gestured to you, and you moved aside to let him pick Strings up in his arms effortlessly.

Strings leaned into Grillby’s warmth, and you noted Grillby began to grow brighter, increasing his warmth just enough to not scorch fabric.

One of the other monsters began to check his vitals, or so you assumed. Fennel came closer to you and pulled you to the bed. He set you down. "What happened?"

You’d never seen Fennel like this before. Quiet, gentle, but firm enough to give you a sense of solidity you desperately needed. And so, you told him everything.

The other monster came forward to check on you. "Do you need healing?"

"Is he okay?" You asked instead.

Fennel sighed. "I’m gonna go tell her what you told me." The last monster in the room, a blue fish monster with a mane of red hair pulled back into a flowing tail, stood with her arms crossed, looking over the tense scene.

"Who is that, Fen?"

"That’s the former Captain." He responded, already walking off.

The monster in front of you stooped. She looked like a mix between a cow and horse, her ears perked and alert, her nose whiskered and fuzzy. She radiated an air of kindness and patience.

"Call me Licorice." She said softly. "How well do you know that man?" She pointed at Grillby and Strings.

You assumed she meant Strings. "We’ve been dating for a while now, friends for longer."

"Okay, good. Do you know if he has any next of kin?"

You went cold. "Is he dying?"

"I have no idea. His stats are… misbehaving. I’ve never seen anything like it."

Undyne pulled out her phone. "Licorice, I’m calling Alphys up, to see if she might be able to help."

She nodded and turned back to you. “There seems to be no physical damage now that he’s stabilized, but what startles me most is that he stabilized without care or magic."

You couldn't offer his secrets. Not without his consent. You prayed she wouldn't ask.

"It might be best if we hold onto him until we know what’s going on."

Undyne came toward the two of you. She made merciless eye contact with you. "You. Can you keep him calm if he’s uncomfortable or scared?"

"I can try." You said. "Why--"

"You’re coming with me. Alphys wants to see him, and since you saw what happened, you should be there too. _Especially_ if you can keep him calm." She smiled tiredly. "I’m not very good at calm."

She seemed to be doing well enough at the moment, but you figured she was exhausted. If she was indeed the same person who helped run the fair earlier that day, you could understand why.

 

It was just you and Strings in the back of Undyne’s car. The ride felt like it took forever. You weren’t sure if you should talk, if she’d hear, or if he’d respond.

You squeezed his hand and he looked up at you sluggishly. Whatever stunt he pulled with his miraculous recovery, it must have worn him out.

"I love you." You reminded him. He didn't react, but you hadn't honestly expected him to. It wouldn't make everything better, but it might help him to remember he’s not alone.

He felt numb, like he was immersed in cotton. Every movement felt like he was underwater with how slow he was. Everything around him was either at a standstill or going on at mach-ten speeds. His mind was absolutely silent.

That was what scared him most.

 

You explained to Alphys what happened after brief introductions, and she looked at Strings with a mixture of fascination and fear. “I… I don’t know how this happened. I didn’t do this to you.” She paused, and looked into his voided sockets. “Uh…. d-did I?”

He shook his head.

“Uh…. well… that’s g-good I guess?” She turned to you. “What I t-tell you can’t leave thi-this room. Ever. I know what he is.”

“Was there any question what he is? He’s a monster. A skeleton.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Uh. I mean. He’s.... not a s-singular one? As much?”

Shit.

“You d-d-don’t look sup-surprised…” She said.

Strings looked in your direction. Hoarsely, he muttered. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not surprised.” You said. “But it’s not my place to tell his story, and he’s not in any condition to tell you himself.”

She nodded. “Th-that’s fine. I, uh… it would only be to sa-satisfy my curiosity anyway. Uh… It’s none of my b-b-business how he got this way… My j-job is to make sure he’s okay and c-can cope with what is hap-happening to him.”

She turned to him. “I b-believe you are an a-a…” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her tone was lower, more serious. She didn’t stammer as much now. “You’re an amalgamate. When a monster is infused with an o-over amount of Determination, it causes… the monster to melt and c-combine with other monsters around them. I have reason to believe that is wh-what happened to you.”

He nodded, his expression still blank.

She went on, to both of you. “Th-this is characterized by unusual stats… an in… inability to dust or be caused permanent damage…” She took a deeper breath. “And… a lack of form…”

Strings looked ashamed.

“This is not your fault.” She said, taking his hands. “You d-don’t deserve this. But the b-best thing we can do is get you help.”

“What kind of help?” You asked, coming closer to support him.

She paused. “Out of all the amalgamates I’ve seen… you’re the only one capable of c-coherence. That’s good. Th-that means it’ll be easier to get help than it was for the others.” She smiled at him, or did her best to. “And you have a-a friend here to help you along the way, right?” She looked at you.

“Yes.” You answered immediately. You looked at Strings. He leaned over and you let him lay against you. “Uh… I think…”

“He needs rest.” Undyne said, and you jumped. You’d forgotten she was there. “Do you think he’ll be safe at home?”

“He-he’s stable.” Alphys said. “Even if he wanted to, he can’t die.”

You went cold at those words. “Has he been like this all along?”

“As f-far as I can tell. I can’t recall ever encount-tering a monster who looks like he does.”

If he had tried to kill himself, back before you started talking to him… he would have learned this alone. He would have been absolutely alone and scared. He would have suffered so much and had no help.

You held him a little tighter.

“He p-probably needs to eat and sleep. It’s a lot of ex… exertion to-to have that happen.”

You nodded. You were tired too.

He spoke again, his voice still hoarse and small. “Can we go.”

Alphys looked startled. “Y-yes… but please call me in the morning s-so I can have updates. I want t-to make sure you’re okay.” She handed you a card with hers and Undyne’s numbers on them.

Undyne spoke up. “Come on, let me get you to the car.”

“No.” Strings muttered. “I’m faster.”

“I’m sure you are, but you’re also tired. Danger is an exciting thing, but you’ve had enough of it for today. Let’s get you to the car.”

You turned to Alphys. “Can you send me a list of recommendations? I need…”

She nodded. “O-of course. Anything you need. B-but… If you need a doctor-- a talking doctor, I don’t know what you call them-- I have a perfect one in m-mind. He works v-very well with P-P...PTSD.” She said.

“That sounds perfect.” You said, and then went after Undyne and Strings. He clung to you the entire ride home, eventually falling asleep with his head in your lap.

 

The next week was silent and frightening. His nightmares were back worse than ever before. Every time he had one, you’d roll over and gently wake him up. He would usually only begin to thrash when you woke up, and it was never violently.

His boss was very understanding, and thankful that he was still alive. He said the company would be eager for his return, but to not rush his healing process and come back when he was ready.

The house remained silent save for the hours he spent murdering his guitar. For over a week he didn’t speak, hardly reacted to noise or touch.

It was a frightening quiet you were afraid to break.

You went to Nica, and she held you as you cried from the stress and helped you apply around town. She had to sit you down. “Do not, under any circumstances, work for Grillby.”

“Why? Is he a bad boss?”

“Not at all. But… I had no idea this would happen, please believe me. I had no clue. But I knew that there would be a strain on your relationship together if you worked with Grillby.”

The more you thought on that, the more it made sense. “dings” had left Grillby, and Sans had flown right into his arms. What if, in his confused state, he thought you would do the same?

After the initial week or two, he’d changed and it made even more sense. Considering that right now he was endlessly switching between cold and detached, hammering ruthlessly at his instruments in a parody of coping and creativity-- and being stuck to your side, clinging, desperate to make sure you are safe, even if it’s just to go out job hunting.

With speech, touch returned. He’d become different in bed. More desperate, echoing back to those accounts, those dreams of Sans when he had been with Grillby. Whereas he’d been confident and happy, laughing and loving… now he was using sex as yet another coping mechanism-- as a way to tire him out enough that he didn’t dream.

It hurt to be used like that, but you wanted him to sleep easily.

He said “I love you.” much more often now. As if he were terrified he’d never have another chance to say it.

Any time you tried to help him organize his thoughts-- which were a mess now, compared to how they had been-- he became defensive and cold again, withdrawing to write music he didn’t feel.

You were afraid he’d return to alcohol. You were afraid you wouldn’t be enough to save him.

You were afraid.

 

It was exhausting. His return to work hadn’t helped how clingy and panicked he was. He wasn’t getting better. He didn’t start drinking again, thankfully, but…

He found you one night in the bathroom, locked in for a moment alone, trying to re-gather yourself for his sake. _For his sake_. You had to be okay, you had to be strong. You were his solidity right now. You were what kept him sane.

You couldn’t do this alone anymore.

You cried for a long time, and he realized something was wrong. He pried open the door and held you. “What can I do?” This was the echo of the man you loved. It hurt but it also gave you hope.

“I need you to get help.” You told him. “I need you to get _real_ help. I don’t know how to help you. Nothing I do is helping, and… I can’t do this forever.”

He said your name, and you looked up at him. He cradled your face in his hands. “I’ll do it. For you.”

“No. I need you to do this for _you_. I need you to get better for yourself. I won’t always be here, Strings. I can’t be your reason for living forever.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“Then don’t, but don’t be in denial over my lifespan. When I’m gone, I need you to be able to keep going. I need you to be safe.” You kissed him. “I need you to take care of yourself when I’m not here to help anymore.”

He used one of his hands to scrub his sockets free of tears. “Don’t say that. Don’t…”

“I’ll go with you if you need me to, but I need you to get help.”

“I’ll do it.” He said, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ll do it.”

 

Alphys had told you that the man you and Strings would be seeing liked to remain behind a screen. She said she knew him personally and he was a huge softie, but would do his best to help anyone. It was a new thing for this guy.

He apparently used this as a way to cope with his own trauma, his own PTSD and losses-- and she implied at one point that he might also be using it as a way to get back into his ex’s good graces.

Alphys knew a whole lot, but she went out of her way to never tell you who he was.

The visits went well. It took a few times for Strings to open up, but when he did, you started staying home and soaking in the silence like a sponge.

There were nights, regardless, where you had to stay over with Alison. There were nights when Fennel, Nica, or Grillby would turn up unannounced to check up on Strings. From what Nica could see, things would be getting better. You hoped so.

You and Alphys remained on good terms, and so you found yourself going to do karaoke with she and Undyne at Nica’s little gathering.

They weren’t planning their road trip yet-- Nica had just seen something a bit far off and decided to run with it, or so they guessed-- but were eagerly awaiting a time when they could.

Undyne pulled you aside at a point once and told you it was what they’d planned for their honeymoon, but they hadn’t had time to plan a wedding, much less honeymoon. You offered what assistance you could, and she gave you an affection-noogie.

You and Alison had long conversations about Strings when you crashed with her. She said after Gentem’s death, even before he started drinking heavily, he was cold and standoffish. He was always working on songs, but his work ended up being screaming and broken instruments.

"I’m glad you’re staying with him, but please remember you matter too, okay?" She said. "I am here no matter what. If you need to vent, or if you need someone to crash a bad party with a homecooked meal, call me up anytime."

"Is that your way of saying if I’m depressed you’ll bring me food?"

"Make a list of your favorites and I’ll pick it all up after the Airship closes tomorrow."

Fennel was always texting you. Not even just to check on Strings, but to spread what cheer he could. He’d send captioned pictures, notices about goings-on at the Airship, and selfies of himself making ridiculous faces.

Nica stayed away when she could because being around Strings in his current state was very draining and his futures were always in mind-splitting abstract visions that made her whole body hurt. She said it was the price of her magic, the empathy sometimes making her feel the edge of another’s pain.

She sent or brought seemingly innocuous items as gifts though. She tried so hard to figure out what her visions meant-- and it lead to her bringing you a pet cactus, a hairdryer, and a cat collar with little glow in the dark jolly rogers on it and a bell.

You had no idea what that meant and she admitted she didn’t either.

Your future was much clearer, though it was still difficult to see at first. She told you it would get better.

You were frightened deep down that she was lying. She was friends with Strings first. It would be natural to say what it took to keep him comfortable-- but you felt bad for that.

Nica wouldn't do that, and you knew it.

 

The weeks felt like months and the months felt like years.

Winter came, the chill getting to you worse than it ever did before. Even with long sleeves, you still felt cold.

"You’re getting sick, aren’t you?" Strings asked out of the blue.

"I’m fine." You said.

He nodded. It was quiet for a moment. "Can we go out tonight?"

You looked at him. "Sure. I mean… if you’d like to, definitely."

He smiled and got up. "Ready when you are."

It was nothing fancy, of course, just Grillby’s-- the back room, at that, to keep away from the regulars who would encourage him to drink with them. You were glad for that.

Grillby brought your food, and the two of you sat in silence while you ate. It wasnt as uncomfortable as it had been and you were hopeful.

You both went to speak at once.

"You first." He said.

You went on. "I’m really proud of you, Strings. I can tell you’ve been trying really hard. I just… want you to know I see it."

He chuckled nervously and had the grace to appear shy at the praise. It was another change in him. He didn't know how to process compliments.

“What did you need to tell me?” You asked after a pause.

“Uh…” He let out a huff of nervous amusement. “My therapist wanted you to call him about something. He made it sound important… now I wish it was something more… romantic. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, hey, it’s like I said, you’re doing so much better.”

“I wish it was the way it used to be.”

“We’ll get there. I’m willing to wait. I’m willing to help you get there.” You held his hand. “I do love you, you know. That hasn’t changed, and I highly doubt it ever will.”

He squeezed your hand. “God, I don’t deserve you.”

“You do.”

He scooted closer, food forgotten, and held you gently to him. He had been working on that most lately, toning down the “I need physical contact as a medium to emote right now!” and transitioning into “I want to be close to you and love you, but not as a crutch to feel.” It was greatly improving your attitude-- and his, after he got back into the swing of it.

You were content with this. After months, things were finally starting to look up. He’d been getting better, he was actively improving-- and you were here for it. Even with how painful it had been, you were so proud to be there with him, helping him climb.

His fingers touched lightly on the nape of your neck and he sighed against your hair. It was so gentle and carefree a moment. Your heart hurt with the magnitude of joy. But there was something else, too.

A dull throb within him, like the mimicry of a heartbeat. It used to be relatively frequent, but it hadn’t returned over the past few months since the attack…

“You never did tell me what this means.” You said.

“It’s just… my soul trying to match you.” He said. “I think that’s about right. It’s weird. It’s… a thing that lovers do.”

You smiled. “I missed it.”

He held you a bit tighter. “I’ve missed this.” You were starting to feel warm. He kissed you softly, and when the kiss broke, he grinned and whispered. “You remember the first time we saw face to face?”

You smiled back. “Of course.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. And about how I sang Thawed to you. I just…” He let his forehead settle against yours. “I never want to forget the time we’ve been together. I don’t want to take you for granted.” He sighed. “I don’t know how to make anything special. I don’t know what landmark to celebrate, or how to do it. I don’t know how I can make it up to you.”

“Make it up to me?” You were shocked. “You don’t ha--”

“I know. I know… but… I just don’t want…” He took a deep breath, held it for a second and then let it out slowly. “I want to make you happy. Like you make me happy. I want to… I want you to smile like you used to. I want you to melt when I touch you. I want you to shiver when I say something you think is sexy.” He held you a bit closer.

“Strings?”

“If… if ever you feel like that’s not possible… please promise me you won’t stay out of obligation. Please never sacrifice being happy… for me.”

“I’m not, Strings, I swear I’m not.”

He nodded. “Just. If ever.” He took a deep breath and then looked away. “And now the weather.”

You laughed, and he rewarded you with a genuine grin.

Everything was going to be okay.

It was a realization that repeated in your head, resonating in your chest.

You made a note to call his therapist soon and figure out something you could do to commemorate his progress. Anything. Maybe he’d have an idea.

Everything was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO HOW MUCH DO YOU HATE ME IS MY FIRST QUESTION.
> 
> Secondly, give me ideas for fluff. I will reiterate that there will be a happy ending, but once again I'm running out of fluffy ideas, and I definitely need a couple before the ending gets here. So. 
> 
> AND ONE LAST THING: Someone tell me what Nica's gifts meant, because I wrote it seemingly from random and then looked at an older note I made to myself and said HOLY SHIT I KNOW WHAT SHE MEANS. I want to see if anyone else can guess before next chapter, though! If anyone guesses completely correctly, you get a spoiler of your choice for either this story or the g!paps sequel!!!


	15. Ginger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Sorry for the long absence, guys. Some things have happened and it's kept me from making any real progress on anything, but... I'm working on something nice. A few covers that feel nice. Hopefully you guys will like them, too.
> 
> Thank you all for your love and support.
> 
> ~Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE TO MY PRECIOUS READERS!  
> i see those sweet little notes you leave in your bookmarks pages, and i often scroll thru those to make myself feel warm and fuzzy inside when i have a doubtful moment. And every rec makes me do a happy dance. Love all of you who are taking this journey with me! Your comments give me life all through the day! ヽ(*´∀｀)ノ
> 
> I've been working 12 hr shifts, and I'll be working even more of them next week. So I'm getting as much done as possible while I can ^.^

You called the number and the familiar deep rumble answered, "Asgore speaking."

"Hahah, that’s funny." You said, figuring it was a joke, similar to saying _This is the Moonsdale Morgue, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em!_ “Strings told me to call."

" _Oh_ , darn it, I forgot which phone this was."

You paused. "Wait…"

"I have two phones, to keep work separate from work...."

"Is this a joke?"

"Pardon me, but Strings asked you to call?"

You paused. "Yeah, he said you needed to talk to me about something?"

Asgore made a triumphant noise. "Yes, yes! That's right. Would you be available to come talk to me in person. I suppose it's no use denying who I am, and when it comes to matters like this, I prefer face-to-face interactions anyway."

"Uh... do I need to... dress up or something?" All of your dressy stuff had been destroyed.

"No, it's nothing formal, really. Do you know where the Royal Gardens are?"

"I can look it up, or have someone take me there."

"When are you available?"

"I'm pretty sure your schedule is tighter than mine." You said flatly. "You're the--"

"I can make time for this. What time suits you? Do not worry."

"Uhh, is later today a good time? He's... kind of my top priority right now."

He made an affectionate noise. "Of course. And to reiterate, do not worry about dressing up. Be comfortable. I'll be working in the gardens for a few hours this evening."

"It's freezing out." You said. "Oh." You remembered abruptly that the king was literally covered in thick hair.

"I can manage, though I appreciate your concern." There was a smile in his voice, and it was contagious.

 

When you arrived, you saw that he was grooming the area free of fallen leaves and planting a vast amount of poinsettias. You remembered that Christmas was looming in the near future, and resolved to start looking for gifts, since your new job was certainly paying better than your previous one. Monster society had a higher minimum wage than most human settlements.

"I really need to thank you, by the way." You said. "For the permit to live here, as well as just... This place is amazing."

He nodded. "It is a great joy to support my people, and that includes the humans who call this place Home."

"May I ask a few questions? Just out of curiosity?"

He nodded again, and gave you a warm smile. "Go ahead. I've sent for the tea."

"Why are you a therapist? Alphys didn't tell me who you were, but she gave me some theories on why you were doing this."

He chuckled, but there was a hint of hesitation, of pain in his movements in the way he tamped down the soil around the plants with his hands.

You wondered briefly if Gentem was as large as Asgore. Or as gentle.

"I am unsure how much you know about the Queen?" He said.

"Next to nothing, honestly."

"She runs the local schools, takes care of the youth-- of our futures." He chuckled again. "I like to think she uses it as an excuse to effectively adopt every child she encounters." There was love, wistfulness, and so much more in his voice, but no bitterness. "She and I aren't... on the best terms."

You nodded. Alphys had mentioned that.

Asgore continued. "I have always had a plethora of things to do... but I wanted to show her I could change. So I took it up... not just for her, but for me. I have dealt with war, death, loss... I felt it was a way to make reparations. A potential bridge between she and I." He sighed. "She works to heal the future generations... and I the present one."

He was finished with the plants by now, and he turned to fix you with a cheerful smile. "And even if that doesn't change things, I... I've learned so much from the strength of my patients. I admire them all, and it's changed me. I... love myself more than I have in centuries. And I love her even more, now that I know how hard she tried for me. How she struggled to help me..." He was silent for a moment.

"That brings us back to our original subject, I believe." He gestured to the gazebo at the center of the gardens. It was already decked out in Christmas lights and green tinsel. "Let's have a seat and get down to business, shall we?"

"Yes, sir." You said with a smile, recalling Undyne's tales of this man.

After the two of you settled, he produced a tea kettle filled with boiling water and poured it into two cups with tea bags already placed. There was a small basin of sugar cubes fashioned into the shape of the royal insignia.

"Strings has made a miraculous amount of progress."

"Yes, thank you so much for all your hard work."

"I'm sure you know that his climb is not yet over. There will be hard days for years upon years-- and though it will be easier to bear with time, he will never truly be who he once was."

You paused. "I know."

He nodded and smiled. "You are just as strong as he is. Do not forget that."

You didn't answer.

"As for the reason for such a meeting, I wanted to bring up a few observations I've made. He has begun opening up to me about his... dreams. He has submitted a journal full of notes of high detail, and it's so strange. I've never heard of these people in his book, and any potential recognition I'd have of them... would have to be attributed to his own resemblance of them, yes?"

He paused again. "That is irrelevant, however. I'm sure you know this, but the holiday season fast approaches, and I wanted to broach a topic with you concerning a possible way to make his healing process... easier, perhaps."

He definitely had your attention, and he smiled wider, his eyes crinkling with mirth when he noticed.

"Depression is a war he's fought for many years now, I believe-- and one of the many ways to put control and routine into someone's life is to give them a pet. However, I would definitely not advise you to surprise him with a pet. Not only is it a lot of responsibility, of course, but Strings, I'm sure you've noticed, has an aversion to surprises since his trauma."

You nodded. "So, I should... take him out to let him pick out a pet for Christmas? Do you think he'd like that?"

"I am certain it would do him a great amount of good, especially considering it would give him company at home when you're either at work or taking some-- might I add _well-deserved_ \-- time out of the house. I am sure there is a creature he will take kindly to."

You sighed. "I was actually trying to find some way to commemorate his progress. That would actually be a good way to do so, wouldn't it?"

His smile became wistful and sweet. "I'm so glad that he has you. Many of my patients relapse due to the feeling of walking in sand-- from loved ones' apathy or refusal to accept any changes made. I'm... very happy to see Strings has such amazing support."

"It's not just me, you know."

"Yes, I know. I also know he truly cares for you."

"Is... Is he doing this just for me?"

"I believe he was in the beginning, but he's made so many marvelous breakthroughs now."

You nodded. "He really has..."

"I asked him to bring his guitar a few sessions ago, and play me some of his songs. He was shy at first, but by the end of the session, he was showing me some of his works in progress." He paused. "He has a lot of conflict in him."

You giggled. "That's an understatement."

"He sang Dust on My Screen and talked to me about that time in his life."

"Wait, are you able to tell me these things?"

"He told me that if I ever felt it necessary, to talk to you about what we talked about." He took a sip from his tea and sighed.

"Why?"

"He was adamant about it, for reasons I still can't fathom. He even signed paperwork about it." He paused. "I will admit that he's a very special case, with all the things he says in that journal. I won't deny it's a relief to be able to talk to someone else who knows about it."

You snickered.

“In any case. He told me about how you confronted him about his song’s meaning, and how he had thought it wouldn’t make a difference either way. He had a lot of trouble putting it into words.” He sighed. “So he started playing. He… had no shortage of passion.”

“I’m surprised the guitar is in one piece.”

“He broke a string.” Asgore said flatly. “I’m concerned.”

“I’ll call Nica about it.” You responded.

“That was only at first. I had him bring the guitar with him more often. He’s been strumming while talking or listening. The secondary motion has been helping him to open up and also to listen.”

That sounded important.

“He’s not broken a string in the past two visits.” Asgore said. “He’s become much gentler of late.”

You grinned, a faint blush reaching your face as you glanced away. “...yeah.”

Asgore coughed to cover a laugh and averted his gaze as well.

For the rest of the visit, the two of you talked about small things. Tea, gardening, music, friends. Loss, love, hope. Healing, fear. 

Determination.

You told him you’d tell Undyne he said hello, and he promised to try peppermint tea by your suggestion. With that agreement as parting, you left the gardens feeling much better, lighter.

You made plans to go to the pet store soon.

 

“What do you mean?” Strings asked as the two of you sat on the couch together.

“For Christmas, I thought we could go to the pet store together.”

“For a pet?”

“Maybe. If one catches your eye.”

“Today?”

“Well, I thought, since… we’re both off work for a couple days, it would give us time to bond with whatever we chose. I didn’t want to just… go and get one for you, either. That’s a lot of responsibility to spring on someone without warning.

He nodded. “I don’t think I want a pet, though.” His voice was quiet, unsure.

“No pressure, then. Let’s just go look around. Like a date.”

He chuckled and looked at you for a moment, that softness creeping into his gaze more than it usually did anymore. “That actually sounds nice.”

You found yourself blushing again, even as you led him out, finding yourself immediately in front of the pet store, still tugging him along with you. His smile was wider now. You were hardly ever fazed by his displays of magic anymore. It was as natural to you as he was.

You made him feel normal, but simultaneously like the most special thing in the world.

You made him want to do things. You inspired him to fight through his depression, to find motivation even in small things. And so, walking into this pet store, he felt determined to have fun with you.

Strings was partial to dogs of all different sizes, the more lovable and excitable the better-- but he also had a bit of love for cats. They complemented the lazy attitude he took up.

Gentem had taken care of a stray cat once, and the little guy had taken to Strings in a heartbeat. Strings particularly liked it when the cat would settle across his shoulders, legs draping on either side of his neck. The warmth and the constant purring was very relaxing.

He’d been sad to see him leave.

To be honest, Strings was afraid to get attached to anything or anyone. He’d opened up to you, yes, but the idea of getting attached to a tiny creature only to have it ripped from him was absolutely not appealing. It was most of the reason he didn’t feel like looking for a pet at the moment.

But…

The tank full of tiny scrabbling reptiles drew him in, and you watched him with an affectionate grin. He was fascinated, staring at them. An employee noticed as well and closed in.

 

Strings was smiling harder than he’d smiled in over a month as the two of you emerged from the pet store with 200 dollars worth of equipment and food-- and a young bearded dragon he renamed Ginger.

“Who names a lizard Bell?” He asked.

“I think it was something to match her sibling.” You answered.

Ginger’s sibling had been a lot more… lively. They had to be separated-- Ginger was missing a finger.

“Merry Christmas.” You giggled when you got home. Ginger seemed to enjoy clinging to his clavicle. It was probably the warmth of his magic as well as the lovely vibrations of his laughter and voice.

Together, the two of you set up Ginger’s new home.

“I’m… surprised she’s not… trying to escape and look around?”

She wasn’t nearly as small as the babies were, but she wasn’t full-grown, either. Her sibling had been taken long before-- Ginger herself was in need of love.

“I have a way with animals.” He said.

You wondered if there was more to that, but you didn’t dare ask. Even if he knew, he definitely wouldn’t want to talk about it. If he did, he’d say so. The last thing you wanted to do was trigger a panic attack, not when he was doing so well-- especially with something admittedly trivial.

You watched him feed Ginger the crickets, listened to him talk to her, his voice soft and gentle. It made you giggle a bit, though you tried not to let him see or hear.

 

If he wasn’t going out to work, he would have Ginger on his shoulder and walk around town with her. She liked to snuggle under his jacket, poking her head out of the neck occasionally. He cranked out a startling amount of warmth when he took Ginger with him. It didn’t take all his energy, but it certainly took whatever excess he had.

You were glad to see him bonding with her. She seemed to like you well enough, too.

As for Strings’ gift to you for Christmas, he had been sitting around on his lunch breaks for the last month or so, designing tattoos. Now, he settled a stack of marked napkins and pages from steno-pads in front of you, watching you eagerly as you flipped through them.

“I think I found a capable monster to do the tattoo, as well.” He told you. Ginger poked her head out of the collar of his shirt and bobbed her head vigorously at you. It made you smile.

“Who is it?”

“Apparently, monsters used to get tattoos back in the war days to show what squadron they were part of.” He said. “And guess what? Their method doesn’t involve needles! In fact… _I_ might even be able to get a tattoo.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Of course, getting it to take to my bones will be difficult, but I’m willing to try. Don’t want you going into it alone.” You met his eyes and felt a surge of emotion.

It seemed neither of you wanted the other to ever face anything alone. You’d both gotten through this whole ordeal-- the struggle wasn’t over, but you were doing it together. This was just his way of saying he was ready to do the same for you if the time came.

And that’s how you found yourself in a tattoo parlor the weekend before Christmas. The tattoo artist, a lovely lady with no face and shoulders twice as broad as yours and skin a pleasant shade of lavender, crouched so she wouldn’t loom over you and demonstrated briefly what she’d do, her words somehow clear to you despite not hearing anything.

Around your left wrist, there was a wrap of tablature. The notes shimmered in tones you couldn’t entirely perceive at the moment. The color changed depending on so many factors that it would look different at any one moment. Heat, light, or lack thereof would give it different appearances. It wrapped around your wrist, spiraling up toward your elbow, the chorus of Thawed, the first declaration of love he’d shared with you.

As for Strings, he was entirely unsure what to get, waffling back and forth for the longest time as he watched “Lilac” work on you.

“Wait on it.” You said. “We can come back later. You want to think it over before you choose-- it’s there forever.”

He shook his head. “I was supposed to get one with you, though.”

“I’ll get another one, then.” You said. Magic was a helluva thing. The skin felt a little raw, but that was because the flesh was tingling so intensely that it felt like it was bubbling. It honestly wasn’t even that unpleasant, you figured. The act itself, though not involving needles, had been both startling to watch as well as mildly uncomfortable at first.

Lilac was apparently also known as “Pokey” because her magic was very insistent. You wondered how she saw or heard, but it was most likely magic. Her magic was thick and physical, pouring over your skin and sinking in, feeling like a hundred jabs of a boney finger into your skin. It wasn’t entirely painful, but it was an insistent sensation.

It wasn't enough to keep you from wanting another one later.

When the two of you approached the counter of the parlor, Strings fished for his wallet, careful not to dislodge Ginger from around his neck. The human girl at the register was trying not to stare at the sleepy lizard-- and then Ginger began to wave at her and she gasped and muttered aloud, “Wait? It’s...!”

She said she thought Ginger was either part of his body or shirt. He got a kick out of that. You were sure Ginger would too. “I’m so sorry. I was sitting here thinking _wow i’ve never seen that kind of monster befoRE HOLY SHIT_!”

 

Nica loved your tattoo-- and upon coming over again to check on Strings and finding Ginger, she errupted, “I GET IT NOW!” It was mid-January by now, and Ginger was round and happy, a total little diva. She soaked up attention like light and heat.

You thought about it for a moment: A cactus, a blow-dryer, and a cat collar with a bell on it.

“Holy shit, that’s scary.”

“I… that’s the most accurately I’ve gotten such a vague vision before it came to fruition, I’m so proud of myself-- even though it was literally of _no help whatsoever_.”

A cactus to represent desert setting? A blow-dryer as a heat source? A collar to represent a pet? A bell on the collar to literally signify Bell-- or as she was called now, Ginger?

“Yeah, that’s scary.” You repeated.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. If you think _that’s_ scary, I just won’t tell you the newest vision I’ve had.”

“Tell me!”

“You really don’t want to know.”

“ _Nica! Tell me!_ ”

“I’ll just say….” She chuckled. “ _Twister_.”

Twister?

Why were you afraid of what that could possibly mean? And why did she sound like she was smirking?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just know that your comments are what bring me joy when I'm on my breaks, covered in fibreglass and weary. Please don't be shy, tell me about literally anything! 
> 
> Who wants to hazard a guess to what Twister could possibly mean? Anyone have any cute pet antics? Also, to anyone curious, the specific collar i mentioned in last chapter (and this one) is the same one my kitten wears. it's black with glowing jolly rogers and a little bell (that she managed to get off and put in my bed, the little lovable demon).
> 
> I might be investing in a professional microphone now that i have a bit of money ^.^ So watch out for that. Hopefully I can upload the songs after that point lol. I'm also going to be moving in with another coworker by the end of the month, so please bear with me as I get settled in T.T I also bought new glasses today and I'm really excited to be able to see soon! They should be coming in around or before March 4th.
> 
> Has anyone ever owned a beardie before? Ginger is actually based off an old friend's beardie of the same name-- missing toe and all!  
> If anyone is interested in beardies now, please consider checking this website out before purchasing one! Reptiles are higher maintenance pets, please treat them well! 
> 
> https://www.beardeddragon.org/articles/index.php


	16. Pretzel Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Psst, I've hacked into Strings' account. I'll be uploading a song in his stead very soon. If you're not interested, I'm hoping he'll be able to perform it for everyone soon, himself!
> 
> So get ready, because it's gonna be awesome!
> 
> ~Thawed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a long week creatively. So here's the skinny: This story will be ending very soon, and I'm going to be working on the sequel as well as the songs from this fic. I'm going to be searching for a good mic today, see if i can order it. At that point, I'll just have to get around to recording, yknow?
> 
> This was supposed to be a fluffy chapter, and it turn into smut eventually.............. but things happened.

In the past few weeks it was enough to spend your free time together, curled up on the couch.

You loved that he’d fall asleep there while you traced patterns wherever you could on him. You’d taken to humming to him as he drifted, something soft.

Something you were starting to put words to.

You kept it in a tiny notebook you took to work with you. When you were home alone, you’d play your guitar to supplement the melody.

Valentine’s Day was coming up and you were at a loss to get him something special enough. He wasn't really big on candy (especially caramel. It got stuck in his teeth and he’d end up chewing for hours) and he wasn't the type to want stuffed animals.

The only reason you had decided to make a big deal out of it all was that you knew he’d never celebrated it before. He’d said it in passing, ages ago before the two of you started video chatting.

Wow. You realized that it was close to a year since you started talking.

_Wow._

All this had happened so quickly?

 

Strings was feeling confused and frustrated. His confidence, the attitude he’d once used to drive you wild and set up fiery nights of passion-- where the hell had it gone?!

The romance was back, and he was working up to get back in the game, but how had he gotten out of it?

He thought about it, asking the questions his therapist would ask him. How did the activities make him feel? _Empowered_. So why did he avoid it? Why didn't he feel confident anymore?

_Perhaps… because I’m afraid I’ll take it too far? I’m afraid I will use it as another crutch--_

And what would that mean for you? You would be a device to him, a coping mechanism more broken than alcohol and free sex.

He might lose your trust. Your respect.

He was afraid he’d be doing it for the wrong reasons, and so he’d been treating you so preciously, afraid he would be taking you for granted otherwise. But in doing so, he was afraid stagnation would occur. Vanilla is good every now and then, but before, he had been so rough, so passionate-- and he _knew_ you missed it.

He missed it too.

He missed being able to grab you, your legs woven around his back as he pressed your back to the wall or a door. He missed teasing you in public by implying he’d get you off right there, audience or no.

He missed holding you aloft above him, leaving the ghost of touches, so light they didn't even tickle, across your body as you struggled against his magic to be closer to him.

But he was afraid, too.

He needed to figure this out.

 

It slipped one day. The two of you had been watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and making jokes and references throughout-- and somehow it lead to him saying "Leave my sensitive holes out of--" and the two of you fell into hysterics. It had been a while since either of you had even thought of it, and it lead to the two of you just giggling at each other while Legolas did the thing.

[Yeah, _that_ thing.](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/a9/89/00/a989003e1e29c7a708da1593196bd806.jpg)

After the laughter had subsided though, you loomed over him. He was lying on the couch with you spread across him, and now you used it to your advantage.

"Which sensitive holes, Strings?" You whispered, tracing a finger around his eye socket. Normally you’d have him laughing again, but the way you asked, the lusty, breathy tone made him gulp and squeeze your hips a bit.

He quirked a brow at you, trying to seem unfazed. It wasn’t that his eye was sensitive or anything, but this was an exciting and unexpected moment. He had forgotten how it felt when you took control-- and honestly it had always been a weakness of his.

You let your words sink into your darker, more seductive tone, tasting them like wine before letting them wrap around him and drive him wild. “Because I want to touch your holes-- mmm, and be touched in turn.”

He ground his teeth a bit, itching to bite you, to dig his fingers in and bruise you, to take you hard and rough on whatever surface was quickest.

“Just… relax.” You said, cradling his jaw. You moved his face to the side, leaning in to press a very soft kiss to that little sensitive area where his skull and spine joined. You liked the way his fingertips dug into the meat of your ass before he composed himself. You let out a little noise to encourage him, your mouth on his neck rendering the vibrations of your voice in a delightful way. He made himself expel his breath calmly, but it only served to show you how hard he was trying to keep himself in check.

“Let me take care of everything.” You said, and the feeling of your voice actually made him let out a pant. You grinned and let your hands wander, pulling his tanktop off him so you could grope his ribs, looking for the tiny spots that had proven in the past to make him weak. You started out gentle, had him grasping at you, whispering encouragements to you.

You dug your nails in and his voice emerged, deep, wanton and perfect to fuel the desire building in you. You smiled against his neck. “I love your noises.” You admitted, just loud enough to rattle him further.

His fingers took to your hips, grinding you against his pelvis. He gasped, and you chuckled. “You’re so impatient.” You playfully chided. His fingers snuck up your shirt, his hands shaking harder with every malicious exploration of his bones.

“I… want you…” He said, leaning into you. “I want you to feel good, too.”

You laughed, leaning back to fix him with a look, brow cocked. “Trust me, I’m planning on it.”

God, but he loved it when you took initiative.

You traced your fingers along the inside of his ribcage, attacking his spine and watching him shudder as you drug down. You fanned your hands over the rise of his hipbones, palming them under his soft, elastic-waist pants he’d taken to wearing at home lately. He groaned deliciously at your handling, and you just knew that he had formed his erection already.

Something wild crawled through you, giving you the idea of him begging you for release-- and if the real thing were as satisfying as the idea, you might have a plan for the night.

“I have a challenge for you.” You said against his jaw. “You can’t come until I tell you to. Understand?”

“Shit.” He whispered. “I’m so fucked. What happens if I fail?”

You pondered for a moment. “Depends if you’re too tired to go on at that point.” You said darkly.

After a few more moments of breathless exploration, another foreign idea came to you. “Um. Weird question.”

“Shoot.”

“You seem to like pressure… but… if I…” You reached down into the gap of his pelvis. With how much larger his frame was compared to a normal human, your arm fit into that gap without getting stuck.

“Uhh…” He swallowed. “Uhh……. What the fuck would this even be called? Reverse fisting? It makes me feel really weird.”

You hummed, trying really hard not to laugh. “Maybe my… arm isn’t big enough for it to feel right?”

“What the fuck are you planning?” He asked as you withdrew your arm.

“I’m not going to hurt you. And if you’re not curious about it, we can stop.”

There was a pregnant pause. You met his eyes and saw that he was warring with himself. “I don’t think I can sleep tonight without knowing what the hell this will feel like.”

You put him at ease with a kiss. “You’ve showed me so many things, let me take the rare opportunity to try something with you you haven’t done yet.”

“S-so, wait. What are you--” You interrupted him by crawling up on him.

“It will sound much less sexy to tell you what I’m doing, but if you need to know…”

“I trust you.” He said. “Just a little…”

“Hesitant, I know. I’ll be gentle.”

He laughed. It took a bit of work, but you managed to angle your hip right and get your foot into the gap. Already, that was a tighter fit and he cleared his throat to distract from the noise he almost made.

What the actual fuck were you doing?

You got your foot through, and part of your calf before it became much easier to move around and get back into the swing of things. He was gasping at this point.

“You have _no goddamn idea_ just how fucking…. Surreal that feels.”

“I really don’t.” You said.

The meat of your calf must have felt good pressing against that area. You weren’t entirely sure what to think of this. Maybe next time a pillow would be a better idea. Hell, why hadn’t you thought of that before?

Oh well, he was having fun at the moment. For future reference, if applicable.

You went back to handling his bones and kissing at him before realizing it would take some skillful acrobatics to reach his cock with your hands.

“Well fuck.” You growled.

“Yes, please.” He panted against your hair.

“No, I mean…. How am i going to reach you? I’m at a weird angle…”

“Will it hurt your leg at all to sit on me?”

“I might need to take my leg out of there and get in a better position or something.”

“Okay, let’s do that.”

You moved to get that leverage that would allow you to pull it out, and lost your balance, accidentally going in past your knee. The flesh of your thigh pressed much more than that of your calf and he accidentally thrust from the unexpected stimulation.

The pressure was a bit more than you were ready for. “Ow ow ow….” You tried to keep it under your breath--- and then you tried to move again….

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Strings…. Can you make your bones softer? I’m stuck.”

“Stuck.”

“Yes. I’m stuck.”

“I’m trying. Can you get out now?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Shit.”

“Yep.”

He started processing escape plans. None of them involved being pinned to the couch. “So. If I get up, any movement could hurt your leg….. Or… by how you’re sitting almost astride the ridge of my hips there…. Could hurt you--”

“Yeah. Um. How the fuck are we getting out of this?”

 

Fennel was sitting in the breakroom of the Airship, enjoying a tall glass of something not made by MTT (the enjoyment was primarily in the fact that it was not MTT-brand. It was the most horrid thing he’d ever tasted in his life. These humans and their nasty-ass Starbucks. Maybe it was an acquired taste? There was no magic in this!) when his phone began to go off.

“Ass-gore spake.” He answered jokingly.

“Fennel….”

You sounded troubled. “Agh, shit. I’ll be right there.”

“Fennel, wait. Don’t bring anyone else.”

There was a pause. “....What happened?”

“Just…. Please hurry and swear you won’t--”

He hung up before you could make him swear /anything./ He didn’t have time for that shit. He’d swear if it was damn well necessary.

/

Fennel didn’t even knock on the door, just ripped it open-- since when did he have a key?! (oh that’s right, after the incident, Strings made him a copy as insurance that he wouldn’t lock everyone out)-- and burst in, looking around wildly.

Strings, softly, muttered. “I’m so glad we’re both still wearing clothes.” Even if he was down a shirt and you were in shorts that, at the moment, were ridden up so far you had a wedgie from hell.

“It won’t help much.” You reminded him glumly, shifting in hopes the wedgie would become less intense. Spoiler alert: it got worse.

When Fennel noticed you, he just stared for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. He walked around, and the added angle made it clear just what had happened.

He began laughing hysterically.

Strings sighed. “Shut the fuck up. I’ve helped you out of worse.”

“You helped me when I got stuck in tight spaces-- but I didn’t do it _sexually_!” He was wheezing. "Oh, my gawwwwd I can only imagine it now. 'Haaay hun, please stick your _entire foot_ up my ass. _but from the inside out_!' HOLY SHIT, you kinky fucks!"

You cleared your throat. “Fennel, can we all have a laugh about this after you help us out?”

“Sorry. Gimme a minute, friend.” He heaved a sigh in an attempt to do away with the laughter.

You looked to Strings and whispered to him. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have tried this.”

“I agreed to it too, you know.”

“Next time, we’ll try a pillow instead.”

His face morphed into shock and then to aggravation. “Why didn’t you think of that sooner?”

“I didn’t until it was too late!”

He sighed. “Not your fault. Sorry I thrusted.”

Fennel burst into laughter again. “Oh, Jeeezum feckin _CROW_ I have no idea how you…” He came closer. “At what point exactly did you realize this was a bad idea?”

You sheepishly looked back at Strings, and then tried unsuccessfully to pull your leg out again. Strings clenched his jaw, visibly trying to soften his bones to let you through. No result.

“And, STRINGS, if you _ever_ kinkshame me again, I will tell the world about this. In fact, let me get pictures while I’m here.”

You whipped around and grabbed Fennel by his shirt, tugging him off his feet. “Do it and I’ll tell Alison exactly what you don’t want her to know.”

“Heh, good one.”

“Or I’ll make that phone call to Nica, tell her to cancel off that sweet little dinner you have planned next month.”

“You fuck’n wouldn’t.”

“This is really. _Really_ starting to hurt my thigh. So get us apart and I won’t even tell Aly about the ring you ordered.”

Fennel looked from you to Strings. Strings was staring at you like he’d never seen you before.

“O-okay, but you gotta let me down. I’ll figure this out. Hold on.” When his feet touched the ground he sighed, ruffled his hair a bit and then rushed off. “Soap might work.”

It was an ordeal, but luckily…. At least not everyone would know-- until after the blackmail was no longer relevant. That gave you a month to find more dirt on him.

Strings looked at Fennel now as he approached. “Wait… so…”

“You know I’ve been into her for a while. I’ve been agonizing over whether it’s too soon…” He paused. “ANd not a got damn word from _you_ of all people!” He glared at Strings. “I know I’m... not much…. But I really care about her, and… humans are so temporary. If she’s willing to be with me at all, I don’t want to waste time.” He sighed and glanced away. “With time as precious as it is, you know.”

“Yeah.” Strings said.

The rest of that little escapade proceeded in silence, leaving you and Strings both in deep thought. This echoed the conversation that had led him to get help. You _wouldn’t_ be around forever, and with Strings being an amalgamate with an inability to die, you couldn’t help but wonder what could be done. Would he still age? Would…

Would he be able to have children? Was it something that effected his soul enough that it would make that a problem?

Would he be able to stand being alone again?

You didn’t know what to think.

 

You ended up calling Alphys. You agonized for a moment. _So what do I do, just ask her if it’s possible for amalgamates to age and hey, do you think they could procreate? That’s not awkward at all!_

Well, considering awkwardness was something Alphys was in all ways aware, she’d at least understand, right? Plus, she’s a scientist. Questions, no matter how fucking weird or invasive, might fascinate her.

“H-hello?”

 _Shit. I’m not ready for this._ “Hey, Alphys, I…. uh… had a couple of weird questions about amalgamates.”

“Oh!” She must have almost dropped the phone by the sound of it. “Oh, r-right! Is he okay? I’m-so-sorry-I-haven’t-checked-in-lately-it’s-just-the-wedding-plans-and--”

“Alphys, calm down, everything’s okay. I….. um, had a… question about something….. We haven’t covered, exactly.”

“S-something we haven’t covered?”

You needed to say it before you lost your nerve. “Can amalgamates have children?”

There was a long, insufferable pause. “Um.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not like we’re planning to or anything, but I was wondering and I was just…”

“There shouldn’t be a problem, but if ever you do conceive, I’d like to be on board to keep track of the child’s behaviors. It hasn’t happened yet, but when I did my exam of Strings, his soul behaved much… more solidly than my o-other patients' souls.” She took a deep breath. “But there sh-shouldn’t be an actual pr-problem.”

You waited a minute, digesting the information, thinking about it much more than you had previously. If Strings didn't age, but could produce children.... You didn't want to feel like that would be the only thing keeping him alive after you were gone... a child would need to be wanted fully-- and not just for this kind of reason. If you wanted a child with Strings in the future, it would need to be out of desire for a child, not as a means to an ends.

“What about aging. Do amalgamates age?”

“It’s only been a few years, so it’s hard to tell just from that.” She said. “Um. I’m not sure how much you know about monster physiology…”

“Assume I know nothing.”

“Okay.” She paused. “H-hold on, I need to eat wh-while I exp-plain this. It makes it easier.”

“Go on.” From the times you had sat and talked with Alphys and Undyne, you noticed that Alphys sometimes needed a secondary action to help her focus her thoughts. You didn’t hold it against her, even when you heard the sound of slurping ramen. She put you on speaker phone.

“Okay. S-so… back in the days of the war, there were a few squadrons who-- Undyne could explain this much better, I’m sorry…” She paused and popped a drink open. “I’ll do my best.” She said, and you could hear her chugging whatever it was. “So. There were squadrons who trained their bodies to the point where they ascended to a level where they don’t age normally. The king and queen are at that level, as well.”

She paused and you heard something crunchy. “I’m so sorry I’m loud…” She said, and then launched back into the explanation. “Okay, so… they’re called boss monsters, okay? And boss monsters _can_ age, but only after having a child. As the child grows, the parents go on aging. Like passing the torch, I guess.” She paused for a drink again.

“Other monsters usually have a finite lifespan, but it isn’t always parallel to human ones.” She cleared her throat. “And since I have no idea what monsters formed Strings, I don’t know if one or both of them were boss monsters.”

“Well, if we could figure out how old those monsters were…”

“That…. Doesn’t entirely work. There have been rare cases of monsters even around this time who trained hard enough to become boss monsters.” There was a note of pride in her voice. “Undyne just reached that level a few months ago!”

“Congratulations.” You said. “But, that means we don’t really have much to go on at all, do we?”

“Not really.” She admitted. “We’ll have to play it by ear, and if I find anything out, I’ll tell you. In the meantime… if you are considering having children with Strings…. Keep me posted. I need this info for the others, too, if you’re willing to share.”

There was another pause before she spoke again. “B-but, one more thing, I’m sorry. Umm… I’ll be running some more tests in the near future. The idea of amalgamates being boss monsters…. Or being able to become boss monsters…. It gave me a new idea. So thank you. At some point, I’d like Strings to come in again.”

“Of course.”

 

Strings sat in the living room, and his phone went off. He saw the number and flinched. “Yes, Nica?”

“Look, I know you like surprises to remain surprises, but you can’t let that little incident sway you on that plan. So go sign up for it _now_ or it’ll be too booked!”

Nica hung up, and Strings stared at the phone as one would at a venomous snake. Ginger, laying upon his clavicle, bobbed her head at the phone like a sassy little thing.

He looked at Ginger and sighed. “Guess I’ll have to call, or she’ll never let me hear the end of it. Also, I don’t want to know how she already knew about ‘that little incident.’”

 **Twister, but with a TWIST!** The flier had said.

Nica was right. He wanted to do this-- and he was going to.

For your first Valentine’s Day together, he wanted some spontaneity. He wanted to rekindle the fire he'd had before. 

This might work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUAL MEANING OF TWISTER, YO!
> 
> Okay, so I literally just now ordered a mic off wish.com and we'll see if it's any good. I also have no idea what i'm doing and require help from more knowledgable ppl, but the only person i know of with that know-how who would be willing to help me is a state away and not answering any of us.......... no idea why.............
> 
> Alright, ONE MORE THING:  
> One of you asked what reader's family is like. And it gave me a partial idea that exploded. As a little treat, I'm going to make an alternate-meeting au where reader and Strings meet in a very strange circumstance. There will be hilarity, there will be drama, there will be more hilarity and maybe some fiery bits, if I can work it in. Please tell me if you're interested! It'll be added to the Valentine's Collection, too!
> 
> Also, I don't know if I ever outright said it, but Fennel is a monster, mixed between a dryad-type and a gnome-type monster. His lifespan is about on par with an oak tree-- which is to say he's gonna outlast a human by a longshot, even though he's not a boss monster. That being said, WHO IS EXCITED FOR FENALI?! (I'm sorry I focus so much on ocs, please forgive me, I'm terrible)


	17. READ THE AU if you want to, i mean...

Hello, I never do this, but this is important.

For those of you who haven't heard, I am working on an AU of this story, and it's getting really heated. I've just gotten taken off of overtime, so **I should be able to finish it up and return to this story** thereafter, in short order.

Perks of the AU: It's **funny** , **fluffy** , and about to turn **smutty**. Also, Strings in a suit and meeting Reader's family. Without spoiling **any of the surprises** it holds, that's what I can tell you. 

So, if you're interested in reading it, [It's Right Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10224629).

If not, I will be back to this story as soon as The Perfect Gentleman is finished.

 

Love you guys! **I swear I'm not abandoning any of my stories**. I've just been having to write while also working overtime from hell.

 

~~Consider this a possible bit of fluff to counter all the angst that i put you through a couple chapters ago, yeah?~~

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to hear what I have in mind for these songs, check out my tumblr, zaiyofalls, for a possible voice recording. Bear in mind I can't play instruments, so it will only be acappella, and to the best of my abilities.
> 
> If you would like to see other things I've written, perhaps on the less suggestive side, check out my main fic, Soul-Searcher, as RavenZaphara.


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